To what form shall I compare Thee, my Lord?
That I shall be complete when I attempt
to crystallize Thee in alphabets?
Bold of me to try to
solidify Thee in phrases
that come beating out of my heart's recess.
Ah, ye, perhaps to a string of an instrument!
That slow, wild, itinerant sound-
the harmony of who Thy is.
Strike, sway, strike, strike, sway
My soul runs amok.
Bless me with Thy presence forevermore.
Oh my Lord, the opaline of who Thy is,
ti's art of mine, shall neigh aput.