Countenance

May I rest my head in the verdant shade
Of the endless Garden, within the lap
Of my love that the mortal soul may fade
Like frankincense or ooze like amber sap,
Then should I forget the weight of life
That hung on each breath like a knife.

But all the pleasures abundant there
Of fruit, of goblet, the thrones of pearl,
The rubied valleys, the dark and fair
Of each and every splendid servant-girl,
All that is but a lovely vanity
Vanishing before true divinity.

No, the remedy of all is in a glance
At Him whose realm and being is Himself,
And who are lost within that lucent trance
See at long-last nothing, nothing else;
So to be cured of life, let me there stay
That I effulgent may melt, melt away.

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