The Broken Wing/The Worship of Love

​3. The Worship of Love

Crush me, O Love, betwixt thy radiant fingers   Like a frail lemon leaf or basil bloom, Till aught of me that lives for thee or lingers   Be but the wraith of memory's perfume,  And every sunset wind that wandereth  Grow sweeter for my death!
Burn me, O Love! as in a glowing censer   Dies the rich substance of a sandal grain, Let my soul die till nought but an intenser   Fragrance of my deep worship doth remain— And every twilight star shall hold its breath  And praise thee for my death!
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