Poem III

1Yestereve I delivered to a star tidings for thee:‘Present,’ I said, ‘my service to that moon-like form.’

2I bowed, I said: ‘Bear that service to the sunWho maketh hard rocks gold by his burning.’

3I bared my breast, I showed it the wounds:‘Give news of me,’ I said, ‘to the Beloved whose drink is blood.’

4I rocked to and fro that the child, my heart, might become still;A child sleeps when one sways the cradle.

5Give my heart-babe milk, relieve us from its weeping,O thou that helpest every moment a hundred helpless like me.