If You Could Come

My love, my love, if you could come once

From your high place,

I would not question you for heavenly lore,

But, silent, take the comfort of your face.

I would not ask you if those golden

In love rejoice,

If only our stained star hath sin and tears,

But fill my famished hearing with your voice.

One touch of you were worth a thousand creeds.

My wound is

Through toil-pressed, but all night long it

In aching dreams, and still you cannot come.