Sonnet XV
Above the ruin of God’s holy place,Where man-forsaken lay the bleeding rood,Whose hands, when men had craved substantial food,Gave not, nor folded when they cried, Embrace,I saw exalted in the latter daysHer whom west winds with natal foam bedewed,Wafted toward Cyprus, lily-breasted, nude,Standing with arms out-stretched and flower-like face.And, sick with all those centuries of tearsShed in the penance for factitious woe,Once more I saw the nations at her feet,For Love shone in their eyes, and in their earsCome unto me, Love beckoned them, for lo!The breast your lips abjured is still as sweet.