That the midday sun shall beat
On my lonely lips and feet.
“OH, I HAVE THEE, ASTHORE”
Oh, I have thee, Asthore: deep at this heart
Thy presence is a fragrance subtly-rare,
As blooms exhale the midnight hour. Whate’er
I do, will, dream, aspire, achieve, thou art
My Aim, my End. Nay, more, the absolute part
Of my Soul’s life! Should hollow-eyed Despair
Clutch on me it is only that I fare