Tannhäuser

But me ! I burn with love ! My lips are wan ! Thy face is turned— I flame ! I melt ! I fall ! My heart is chilled and dark ; My soul's ethereal spark Is dulled for sorrow ; my despairs recall At last Thy name, O gracious Paphian, Lady of Mercy to the love of man ! Come, come, immortal, of the many thrones ! Sparrows and doves in chariot diamonded Drawn through the midmost air ! O Lady of despair, Who bound the golden helmet of Thy head ? Whose voice rings out the pitiful low tones : "Who, who hath wronged thee? And my power atones. " She who now doth flee, shall soon pursue thee ; " She who spurns thy gifts, with gifts shall woo thee ; " She who loves not, she shall cleave unto thee, " Thou the unwilling ! " Peer of Gods is he, equal soul to theirs, Who lingers in thy passionate embrace : Whose languor-laden kiss Cleaves where thy bosom is A throne of beauty for thy throat and face ! In these dark joys and exquisite despairs, O Love, let Death lay finger unawares ! 103