The Broken Wing/The Worship of Love

​3. The Worship of Love

Crush me, O Love, betwixt thy radiant fingers
  Like a frail lemon leaf or basil bloom,
Till aught of me that lives for thee or lingers
  Be but the wraith of memory's perfume,
 And every sunset wind that wandereth
 Grow sweeter for my death!

Burn me, O Love! as in a glowing censer
  Dies the rich substance of a sandal grain,
Let my soul die till nought but an intenser
  Fragrance of my deep worship doth remain—
 And every twilight star shall hold its breath
 And praise thee for my death!

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