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They found me still on that sun-warmed seat,
With the damask-rose petals strewn on the
ground.
But they did not know that their voices took
A tone like the wind in a sepulchre;
They did not know that a heathen book
Had made me a monk for evermore!
- SUPREME UNCTION
OUT of the eternal night,
Rumours and murmurs infinite,
Come to me where here I sit,
Watching in silence where dead love lies,
Pouring balm upon his closed eyes,
Anointing him with memories.
They are deep, the reservoirs of the night!
They are deep, the wells of the infinite!
And who can say but love may stir
While I pour balm, while I pour myrrh;
And rise like a flame and wander free
Over the land, over the sea,
And in the end come back to me?
