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."
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.
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!
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!
132
