When Love beckons to you, follow him, though him ways are hard and steep. And when his wings
enfold you, yield to him, thought the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when
he speaks to you, believe in him, though his cover may shatter your dreams as the north wind
lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for
your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caressed your tenderest branches that
quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to our roots and shake them in their clinging to earth.
But if, in your fear, you would seek only love's peace and love's and love's pleasure, then it
is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's pleasure, then it is
better for you tears. Love gives naught bit it self and takes naught but from itself. Love
possesses not, nor would it be possessed, for love is sufficient unto love.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must have desires, let these
be your desires.
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love.
And to bleed willingly and joyful.
To wake at drawn with a winged hear and give thanks for another day of loving.
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy.
To return home at eventide with gratitude.
And then to sleep with a payer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your
lips.