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A PSALM TO THE BEST BELOVED
A PSALM TO THE BEST BELOVED
Thou comfortest me with the manna of thy love,And the kisses of thy mouth are wine and sustenance;Thy lips are grateful as fruitIn lonely orchards by the wayside of a ruinous land;They are sweet as the purple grapesOn parching hills that confront the autumnal desert,Or apples that the mad simoon hath sparedIn a garden with walls of syenite.Thy loosened hair is a veilFor the weariness of mine eyes and eyelids,Which have known the redoubled sunIn a desert valley with slopes of the dust of white marble,And have gazed on the mounded saltIn the marshes of a lake of dead waters.Thy body is a secret EdenFed with lethean springs,And the touch of thy flesh is like to the savour of lotos.In thy hair is a perfume of ecstasy,And a perfume of sleep,Between thy thighs is a valley of delight,And between thy breasts is a valley of peace.
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