“I love
you, poor soul.” You will never say.
Nor say,
“I will accept your love.” How long
Shall I
then toil at the weaving of this song
And pine
and long in hope from day to day?
Your self
is denied me, but I’m content
My love
will therefore not inglorious die
In
surfeit sensual and in ashes lie:
My love
is deathless being never spent!
Some sing
for fame and some for kingly alms;
Some have
a message for the human kind;
Some sing
inspired by suns and seas and storms;
I sing
for you song burgeoning in my mind.
I shall
love,–build a TAJ of song for you
With
moaning minarets in moon-washed blue!