Time is the winged messenger
Of the Heart’s Desire;
Wondrous herald! Tidings fair
Is his life entire.

Think not, thou shalt never win
The Beloved to view:
The desire thy breast within
Still is raw, and new!

Well I know that thou dost soar
Hawklike high in air;
Yet beware the Fowler, for
Ancient is his snare.

How may Gabriel aspire
Where Man’s dust shall fly?
If his present fame is higher,
‘Tis his roof that’s high!

All thy life is breath to take,
Knowing not, frail man,
That true living is to break
The days’ talisman.

Of the science of the West
This much I will speak:
Sweet are sighs and tears expressed
While the gaze is weak.

O’er the Crescent and the Cross
I am raised sublime;
Other tumult now doth toss
In the brain of Time.