The imperishable perfume

When the Indian Rose, flower of a sun-filled land,

has dripped the fragrant essence of its soul

into the phial of crystal, clay or gold,

it can be all poured out on the burning sand.

And then however much that narrow cell

which held it safe is washed by tide or rain

or smashed to fragments, still there will remain

amid the dust its sweet celestial smell.

Since through the open lesion in my breast

an essence no less precious and sublime

- the love I bear for her - is spilt and spent,

may she be pardoned! May my pain be blessed!

Beyond today and into endless time

my heart is perfumed by an immortal scent.