Rosa Mundi

— 8 — So thine eternal petals shall enclose Me, O most wonderful lady of delight, Immaculate, indivisible circle of night, Inviolate, invulnerable Rose ! The sound of my own voice carries me on. I am as a ship whose anchors are all gone, Whose rudder is held by Love the indomitable — Purposeful helmsman ! Were his port high Hell, Who should be fool enough to care ? Suppose Hell’s waters wash the memory of this rose Out of my mind, what misery matters then ? Or, if they leave it, all the woes of men Are as pale shadows in the glory of That passionate splendour of Love. Ay ! my own voice, my own thoughts. These, then, must be The mutiny of some worm’s misery, Some chained despair knotted into my flesh, Some chance companion, some soul damned afresh Since my redemption, that is vocal at all ; For I am wrapt away from light and call In the sweet heart of the red rose. My spirit only knows This woman and no more ; who would know more ? I, I am concentrate In the unshakable state Of constant rapture. Who should pour His ravings in the air for winds to whirl,