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If thou wouldst lead me to my loneliness,
Seal me with less than but a kiss,
This then, my heart, thou wouldst move,
And dear, thou wouldst have my love.

If through darkness and despair
Thou wouldst lead me in a prayer
For chills deeper than a thousand winters prove,
Then dear, thou wouldst have my love.

While phantoms rise and summers fall
Thou wouldst have me, and have me all,
If thou sculpt thyself as Lord and Pain
So that for thee heaves my breast in vain,
So that my soul to Hell thou wouldst remove
Then dear, ah then! Thou wouldst have my love.

Loathe me and, dear, I shall praise thee
On a throne of my bones, I shall raise thee,
Be my burden and I will be a slave
Forbid me, and guide me to my grave,
And mayst thou upon my remains ever trod
That I may see in thee a god
Whose might, no unbeliever may disprove,
For then dear, thou shalt have my love!


© 2021 Marten Hoyle