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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GENERAL PUBLIC by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET COMING DOWN TO THE DESERT AT LORDBURG, N.M. by HAYDEN CARRUTH MOTHER (MARGERY CARRUTH, 1896-1981) by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE PRODIGAL SON by DAVID IGNATOW |