Fatima by Lord Tennyson
O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might!O sun, that from thy noonday heightShudderest when I strain my sight,Throbbing thro all thy heat and light,Lo, falling from my constant mind,Lo, parchd and witherd, deaf and blind,I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.Last night I wasted hateful hoursBelow the citys eastern towers:I thirsted for the brooks, the showers:I rolld among the tender flowers:I crushd them on my breast, my mouth;I lookd athwart the burning drouthOf that long desert to the south.Last night, when some one spoke his name,From my swift blood that went and cameA thousand little shafts of flameWere shiverd in my narrow frame.O Love, O fire! once he drewWith one long kiss my whole soul throMy lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.Before he mounts the hill,I knowHe cometh quickly: from belowSweet gales, as from deep gardens, blowBefore him, striking on my brow.In my dry brain my spirit soon,Down-deepening from swoon to swoon,Faints like a dazzled morning moon.The wind sounds like a silver wire,And from beyond the noon a fireIs pourd upon the hills, and nigherThe skies stoop down in their desire;And, isled in sudden seas of light,My heart, pierced thro with fierce delight,Bursts into blossom in his sight.My whole soul waiting silently,All naked in a sultry sky,Droops blinded with his shining eye:I will possess him or will die.I will grow round him in his place,Grow, live, die looking on his face,Die, dying claspd in his embrace.
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