I’ve seen the striving Gatsby, Cyrano,
Each reaching forth to feed his hungry heart,
Though in the end such longing brought them woe,
Though in the end it tore their worlds apart.

I too was drawn unto a flower’s scent
A fair, adorable, yet subtle power;
I too reached out; I too was sorely rent,
But her spell broke before my final hour.

One day I paid her visit under fine sky,
Her fragrance lifted me, yet tense I stayed.
A word I spoke; she let me fall—to die:
For but a quiver of my lips, betrayed.

From out the earth I rose: my work was done.
Then swift I turned, my face lit by the Son.