Tell
me if this be all true, my lover, tell me if this be true.
When
these eyes flash their lightning the dark clouds in your breast make
stormy answer.
Is
it true that my lips are sweet like the opening bud of the first
conscious love?
Do
the memories of vanished months of May linger in my limbs?
Does
the earth, like a sharp, shiver into songs with the touch of my feet?
Is
it then true that the dewdrops fall from the eyes of night when I am
seen, and the morning light is glad when it wraps my body round?
Is
it true, is it true, that your love travelled alone through ages and
worlds in search of me?
That
when you found me at last, your age-long desire found utter peace in my
gentle speech and my eyes and lips and flowing hair?
Is
it then true that the mystery of the Infinite is written on this little
forehead of mine?
Tell
me, my lover, if all this be true.