58
At last thou comest;
Thy footsteps I hear across the ages,
Over wandering fancies,
Through shadows of dreams
Is thy coming, Queen of queens.
This shimmering summer of life
That thou bringest with thee
As a gift to my silent waiting
Is but what I prayed to bring
To the altar of thy coming.
I spread the seat of my soul,
For thee to rest thy tired limbs;
And wave the fan of my heart
To cool thy lotus-shaming face,
Lady of light, queen of grace.
Come to my bower of worship,
Where burns the incense of devotion,
Lay thy rose-robed body
In the shrine of my longing,
Where love's rainbow-songs are ringing.
59
The lingering light of the sun
Takes from the chalice of the valley
Its mist-perfume to wash the
Moon-face with rose.
In the pool at my feet the goldfishes drag their trains of brown
Which cleave it into parts that ceaselessly mingle anew.
The moon, silver bright
Through thousand streams sends her light
Into the valley aswoon, listening to the harmony of night.