XI
Even to the end of all must I resist.
New deaths, new births, each minute bolling over.
I can go on for ever, an you list—
Now, now! O no! I will not. O my lover!
Spare me! Enough! Take pity! Mutely moans
Your mouth in little sobs and calls and cries
And catches of the breath, whose bliss atones
In once for all the long-drawn agonies.
Now that the pain swings over into pleasure,
Now that the union which is death is done,
The wine of bliss rolls out in brimming measure.
The moon is dead—all glory to the Sun!
Now, now! Oh no! Oh no! I penetrate—
I pierce. Enough. God! God! how Thou art great!
New deaths, new births, each minute bolling over.
I can go on for ever, an you list—
Now, now! O no! I will not. O my lover!
Spare me! Enough! Take pity! Mutely moans
Your mouth in little sobs and calls and cries
And catches of the breath, whose bliss atones
In once for all the long-drawn agonies.
Now that the pain swings over into pleasure,
Now that the union which is death is done,
The wine of bliss rolls out in brimming measure.
The moon is dead—all glory to the Sun!
Now, now! Oh no! Oh no! I penetrate—
I pierce. Enough. God! God! how Thou art great!
— 111 —
