I pray you keep my eyes
Till I return one day to Paradise.
Bereaved of you, Beloved, I am blind,
A broken petal drifting on the wind,
A sightless Shama with a broken wing,
Forlornly wandering.

O Love, how shall I know
If Spring has kindled the high limpid snow
Into rich crucibles of amethyst,
Or in far meadows lulled in smoke-grey mist
Wild poppies waken to the subtle rune
Of the frail pearl-blue moon.

I shall not see, Alas!
Sumptuous and sweet, Life's bridal pageant pass,
Or radiant martyr Youth serenely ride,
In Death's gay cohorts mailed in dazzling pride,
Or Mystic hordes assail like storm-tossed seas
Time's ageless sanctuaries.

No lambent rays retrieve
The brooding dark in which I grope and grieve
Exiled, remote from the miraculous grace,
The wise compassionate glory of your face.
When will you call me back to Paradise
Love, to redeem my eyes.
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