I love Thee, to love Thee,-- No more I desire; By faith is nourished My love's strong fire. I kiss Thy hands When I feel their blows; In the place of caresses Thou givest me woes. But in Thy chastising Is joy and peace. O Master and Love, Let Thy blows not cease. Thy beauty, Belovèd, With scorn is rife, But I know that Thou lovest me Better than life. And because Thou lovest me, Lover of mine, Death can but make me Utterly Thine. I die with longing Thy face to see; Oh! sweet is the anguish Of death to me! End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by John Hay