dances in the bubbling streams and sings in the morning light;
she with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth; in her the
Eternal One breaks in two in a joy that no longer may contain
itself, and overflows in the pain of love.



LVII

Who is she who dwells in my heart, the woman forlorn for ever?

I wooed her and I failed to win her. I decked her with wreaths
and sang in her praise.

A smile shone in her face for a moment, then it faded.

"I have no joy in thee," she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I bought her jewelled anklets and fanned her with a fan
gem-studded; I made her a bed on a bedstead of gold.

There flickered a gleam of gladness in her eyes, then it died.

"I have no joy in these," she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I seated her upon a car of triumph and drove her from end to end
of the earth.

Conquered hearts bowed down at her feet, and shouts of applause
rang in the sky.