Take of me what is not my own,
my love, my beauty, and my poem-
the pain is mine, and mine alone.
See how against the weight in the bone
the hawk hangs perfect in mid-air-
the blood pays dear to raise it there,
the moment, not the bird, divine.
And see the peaceful trees extend
their myriad leaves in leisured dance-
they bear the weight of sky and cloud
upon the fountain of their veins.
In rose with petals soft as air
I bind for you the tides and fire-
the death that lives within the flower,
oh gladly, love, for you I bear!
Kathleen Raine (1908 – 2003) England
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