THE beauty of the Friend it was that taught me

The ways of love, the paths of grief and care,

And I am dazed and giddy since he caught me

In the bright eddies of His whirling hair.

My tears break forth, my will is overridden,

Reason retreats and resolutions wane;

The stormy bursts of weeping come unbidden,

Wayward and fitful as the April rain.

Yet I stand firm, with all around me reeling;

The waves of trouble, breaking round my head,

Move me—no more than storms and thunder pealing

Disturb the still memorials of the dead.

Not like a falcon do I spread my pinions,

Mounting to tumble downwards on my prey;

Upwards and onwards through the sun’s dominions

I soar, a Humā, to the source of day.