If true love crouches in the lap of desire,
and aches straining to achieve its need -
If it sears the flesh, agonizing over its greed,
Burning the soul with its hard-stoked fire,
Then true love branded me when first we met.
But despite the flames that sear me within,
rising to choke my parched throat with sin,
True love is different from what burns in me yet.
From the flames of desire I have seen a flower grow,
rising from coals, tinged with roseate fire;
hardy and stubborn, in this immolation of desire.
If this eternal fire dies, yet this I know:
My fire-flower will live, curling up to the sun
And while my heart beats, flower and fire will be one.