"I Do Not Even Scorn..."
I do not even scorn your lovers— They clasped an image of you, a cloud, Not the whole life of you that's mine.
I do not even pity my mistresses— Such a poor shadow of desire Their half-warm passion drew from me.
You are a delicate Arab mare For whom there is but one rider; I am a sea that takes joyfully Only one straight ship upon my breast.
Look, like a dark princess whose beauty Many have sung, you wear me The one jewel that is warmed by your breast.
See, as a soldier wearying of fighting Turns for peace to some golden city, So do I enter you, beloved.
The scarlet that stains your lips and breast-points— Let it be my blood that dyes them, My very blood so gladly yielded.
Let it be your flesh and only your flesh That fashions for me a child Whose beauty only shall be less than yours!
Everlasting as the sea round the islands I cry at your door for love, more love, Everlasting as the roll of the sea My blood beats always for you, for you, Everlasting as the unchangeable sea I cry the infinite for space to love you!
Earth of the earth, body of the earth, Flesh of our mother, life of all things, A flower, a bird, a rock, a tree, Thus I love you, sister and lover; Would that we had one mother indeed That we might be bound closer by shame.