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WITHIN my breast an endless smart,

And on my heart a load of pain,

And in mine eyes the crimson rain

Of tears upwelling from the heart.

My every limb from head to sole

Aches with the wounds that grief has wrought;

No skill of leech availeth aught

To stitch such wounds and make them whole.

I fell into love’s snare, and yet

Am free, one of the dervish band,

And though my back be bent, I stand

All in the cypress shadow straight.

If Thou wert wroth with me to-day

The transient pain is overpast;

To-morrow love shall bind us fast,

And I will soothe Thee as I may.

My life is Thine, and my heart’s dove

I slay to make Thee dainty fare,

And all I have I will prepare

And set upon the board of Love.

From morn till eve my burning soul

Shall shoot its flame into the sky,

And like a fiery banner high

Wave o’er the world its mystic scroll.