Take of me what is not my own
my love, my beauty, and my poem -
the pain is mine, and mine alone.

See how against the weight in the bone
the hawk hangs perfect in mid-air -
the blood pays dear to raise it there,
the moment, not the bird, divine.

And see the peaceful trees extend
their myriad leaves in leisured dance -
they bear the weight of sky and cloud
upon the fountain of their veins.

In rose with petals soft as air
I bind for you the tides and fire -
the death that lives within the flower,
oh, gladly love, for you I bear.