What the Bullet Sang
March 25, 2007
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O Joy of creation,
To be!
O rapture, to fly
And be free!
Be the battle lost or won,
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love — the one
Born for me!
I shall know him where he stands
All alone,
With the power in his hands
Not o’erthrown;
I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace;
I shall hold him for a space
All my own!
It is he — O my love!
So bold!
It is I — all thy love
Foretold!
It is I — O love, what bliss!
Dost thou answer to my kiss?
O sweetheart! what is this
Lieth there so cold?
~ Bret Harte ~
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This poem is more striking for someone who is aware of the Sufi-Bhakti poetry tradition of South Asia with its dual layering of meaning with both romantic / erotic love in its intense physicality and spiritual devotion to a personal god inscribed into the same lines.
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