Poems (Tynan)/The Beloved

by Katharine Tynan

THE BELOVED

Blow gently over my garden
 Wind of the Southern sea,
In the hour that my Love cometh
 And calleth me!
My Love shall entreat me sweetly,
 With voice like the wood-pigeon:
"I am here at the gate of my garden,
 Here in the dawn."

Then I shall rise up swiftly
 All in the rose and gray,
And open the gate to my Lover
 At dawning of day.
He hath crowns of pain on His forehead,
 And wounds in His hands and feet;
But here 'mid the dews of my garden
 His rest shall be sweet.

Then blow not out of your forests,
 Wind of the icy North;
But Wind of the South that is healing,
 Rise and come forth!
And shed your musk and your honey,
 And spill your odours of spice,
For Him who forsook for my garden
 His Paradise!