Why didst Thou form me so helpless and frail
Out of the clod and allied to the star?
Lured by the vision and fashioned to fail,
Is it my fault I have fallen so far?
Why in my breast didst Thou kindle desire,
Love for the lips of a woman divine?
Why did I swoon at the sound of the lyre,
Dance and grow wild in the wonder of wine?
God, how I hate Thee enthroned in the sky;
Cruel Omnipotence torturing me!
Clenched are these manacled hands that defy
Hosts of the seraphim singing to Thee!
Paused One a moment and played on a harp,
Joyous and free in the quest of his star:
Passed and was gone, in despair of the sharp
Pain that smote me like a swift scimetar—
Pain that was memory stirred by his song—
Breath of the lily and breath of the rose,
Myrrh on the fingers of maidens that throng
Home from the pools when the day is at close:
Hark! how they sing as they carry the jars
High on the shoulder: "Home, home from the well!
Gold on the dates is the kiss of the stars,
Soft as the kiss of betrothal that fell
Sweet on the lips when my lover claimed me
Caught in the vineyard, delayed by the moon
Orbed in the west, which I tarried to see:—
Night hath a charm that is not in the noon."
Flight of the Seraph, thou bringest me this—
Love and the laughter of maidens who tell
Life is revealed in the breath of a kiss;
Softly they sing it: "Home, home from the well!"
Flight of the Seraph, delay, oh, delay!
Spread wide those pinions of purple and gold;
Strike on the strings, O my Harpist, and play!
Sing me that song that they anthemed of old,
When from the dust all my members were made,
When o'er the cradle a mother looked down,
Saw me, her first-born, and clasped me and prayed
God to bequeath me a sceptre and crown!