I, woman, am that wonder-breathing rose
That blossoms in the garden of the King.
In all the world there is no lovelier thing,
And the learned stars no secret can disclose
Deeper than mine–that almost no one knows.
The perfume of my petals in the spring
Is inspiration to all bards that sing
Of love, the spirit’s lyric unrepose.
Under my veil is hid the mystery Of unaccomplished aeons, and my breath The Master-Lover’s life replenisheth. The mortal garment that is worn by me The loom of Time renews continually; And when I die–the universe knows death.