This poem was first published in Cor Cordium (1913).
Come down, come down, from thy high seat,
   And soothe me, love, with gentle touch,
My soul is parched with burning heat,
   For I have wronged thee overmuch.

As one racked by an endless fire
   Swoons with the overcharge of pain,
As forest blooms drop with desire
   Of long-forbidden, banished rain;

As dying meadows, burned and bare,
   Lie stricken with the sultry sun,
So changed they know not what they are,
   Deep-fearing to be looked upon

For greater torment, even I
   Am quite consumed with furnace-flame,
And perish with a crimson cry,
   My last breath uttering thy name.

In secret thought and open speech,
   Both tongue and heart have wrought unkind,
And when thou wouldst repentance teach
   New fires burst in my rebel mind.

So that I know not what I am,
   Nor whence nor whitherward I be,
But thou canst heal my fevered frame
   If thou wilt turn and pity me.

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