The Broken Wing/Love's Guerdon

​4. Love's Guerdon

Fierce were the wounds you struck me, O my Love,And bitter were the blows! . . . Sweeter from your dear hands all sufferingThan rich love-tokens other comrades bringOf crimson oleander and of rose.
Cold was your cruel laughter, O my Love,And cruel were your words! . . .Sweeter such harshness on your lips than allLove-orisons from tender lips that fall,And soft love-music of chakora-birds.
You plucked my heart and broke it, O my Love,And bleeding, flung it down! . . .Sweeter to die thus trodden of your feet,Than reign apart upon an ivory seatCrowned in a lonely rapture of renown.
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