[11] 6


COME and caress these half-shut eyes

Dreaming of bliss, of love and Thee.

Shall not the slave that pours the wine

Taste of the draught of ecstasy?

Under Thy brows there lurks a fire

Mighty enough a world to slay;

O let its rays, disarmed of wrath,

Graciously gently on me play.

Braid not Thy hair; its cruel coils

Tighten around my soul anew;

Freely I yield my forfeit life,

Torture me not with rack and screw.

Thine am I, Thine in all my ways;

Whether I kneel in Mecca’s shrine

Or in a heathen temple bow,

Thine are my thoughts, my prayers are Thine.