(Received in email)
Late have I loved you, Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you!
Lo, you were within, but I outside, seeking there for you, and upon the shapely things you have made I rushed headlong – I, misshapen.
You were with me, but I was not with you.
They held me back far from you, those things which would have no being, were they not in you.
You called, shouted, broke through my deafness; you flared, blazed, banished my blindness; you lavished your fragrance, I gasped; and now I pant for you; I tasted you, and now I hunger and thirst; you touched me, and I burned for your peace.
When at last I cling to you with my whole being there will be no more anguish or labor for me, and my life will be alive indeed, alive because filled with you.
But now it is very different.
Anyone whom you fill you also uplift; but I am not full of you, and so I am a burden to myself.
Joys over which I ought to weep do battle with sorrows that should be matter for joy, and I do not know which will be victorious.
But I also see grief’s that are evil at war in me with joys that are good, and I do not know which will win the day.
This is agony, Lord, have pity on me!
It is agony!
See, I do not hide my wounds; you are the physician and I am sick; you are merciful, I in need of mercy.