The Match-maker
Many are loved, but few indeed adored
With the devotion paid to thee, O Lord.
She bids me steal the tassel of thy sword,
Thinking of love.
That she may fasten it above her bed,
Thus will some subtle sense of thee be shed,
When the wind blows across its gold and red.
Fancy of love!
Further, she bade me say these words to thee;
"Downcast and long although my lashes be,
Thine eyes have burnt into the heart of me."
Language of love!
"Mimosa wood, though on the threshold laid
And subject unto passing footsteps made,
Can still send forth fresh shootlets, unafraid."
Fable of love?
"Such is the tree's innate vitality.
And if my heart were trampled down by thee,
Still would new shoots of love arise from me!"
Fervour of love!
As waits the sacrifice upon the pyre,
Fearing, yet longing for, the sacred fire,
Her beauty craves the flame of thy desire,
Master of love.
There is an island in the Southern Sea,
Where maidens, when they children cease to be
With Festivals of Laughter are set free.
Island of love.
Set free to love; none hinder them nor chide,
Laughing, they call their lovers to their side,
Laughing, their lovers leave them, satisfied,
Joyous with love.
Go thou to her, such laughter will be thine.
And when her arms about thy youth entwine,
Thou wilt be grateful for these words of mine,
Message of love.
I leave thee, Lord, and if thou shouldst consent,
And thus thy gracious life with hers be blent,
Remember in the days of thy content,
This slave of love.