The roses, and the poppies, and the scent
Subtle and sinful—thine, all thine, are these,
What with my heart that only beats for thee,
The many-throned and many-minded soul
Centred to do thee worship. Hither, hither!
Tannhäuser.
This shakes my spirit as a winnower
Whose fan is the eternal breath of God;
Yet on my forehead I perceive a star
That shames thy beauties and thy manifold