O one deep sacred outlet of my soul!
O soothing wound through which my life-blood flows!
Were it not well that Time should make thee whole,
And soothe with numbing touch thy poignant throes!
Ah no! for in Time’s triumph love would die,
And love is more than life. O wounded heart,
Bleed on, exultant in love’s agony,
Bleed on, defiant of Time’s healing art.
Dear wound, bleed on; and ever, as the tide
Of inward life wells up and gushes through,
Into the hollows of my heart will glide,
From deep mysterious fountains lost to view,
Drawn by the pulsing outrush of my blood,
Love’s life-renewing, life-transforming flood.