Enough. The love of God and you
Has made me hate you both.
And I was sad that Christians, clad in robes so dazzling, were not glad
To keep them spotless from the world, and give the Virgin all they had.
Yet I was racked by continence of all we rightly rank as sense.
I hungered for the Sunflower-tress that now my lips would never press.
I wrenched and wrestled to believe that God had sent us here to grieve
Our bodies with this fruitlessness, that only fakirs could achieve
His purpose. Then in blind revolt my soul like an unbroken colt
Ran round and round an empty field. The hedge was thick. I could not bolt,