Last Poems

The sequence of thy sins shall seem as duty,
Since I have given thee, Oh, Gift of Gifts!--

The pale perfection of unrivalled beauty.

Though in my Firmament thou wilt not shine

Talk not, my Lord, of unrequited love,

Since love requites itself most royally.
Do we not live but by the sun above,

And takes he any heed of thee or me?

Though in my firmament thou wilt not shine,

Thy glory, as a Star, is none the less.
Oh, Rose, though all unplucked by hand of mine,

Still am I debtor to thy loveliness.

The Convert

The sun was hot on the tamarind trees,

Their shadows shrivelled and shrank.
No coolness came on the off-shore breeze

That rattled the scrub on the bank.
She stretched her appealing arms to me,
Uplifting the Flagon of Love to me,
Till--great indeed was my unslaked thirst--

I paused, I stooped, and I drank!

I went with my foe to t