Page:The wind among the reeds.pdf/68



the ﬂaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide; When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The hyssop-heavy sponge, the ﬂowers by Kidron stream: We will bend down and loosen our hair over you,