text: Version 1 (1921)
  Yours is the shame and sorrow,
  But the disgrace is mine;
  Your love was dark and thorough,
  Mine was the love of the sun for a flower
  He creates with his shine.
  
  I was diligent to explore you,
  Blossom you stalk by stalk,
  Till my fire of creation bore you
  Shrivelling down in the final dour
  Anguish  then I suffered a balk.
  
  I knew your pain, and it broke
  My fine, craftsman's nerve;
  Your body quailed at my stroke,
  And my courage failed to give you the last
  Fine torture you did deserve.
  
  You are shapely, you are adorned,
  But opaque and dull in the flesh,
  Who, had I but pierced with the thorned
  Fire-threshing anguish, were fused and cast
  In a lovely illumined mesh.
  
  Like a painted window: the best
  Suffering burnt through your flesh,
  Undrossed it and left it blest
  With a quivering sweet wisdom of grace: but now
  Who shall take you afresh?
  
  Now who will burn you free
  From your body's terrors and dross,
  Since the fire has failed in me?
  What man will stoop in your flesh to plough
  The shrieking cross?
  
  A mute, nearly beautiful thing
  Is your face, that fills me with shame
  As I see it hardening,
  Warping the perfect image of God,
  And darkening my eternal fame.
  
  Version 2 (1928)
  Yours is the sullen sorrow,
  The disgrace is also mine;
  Your love was intense and thorough,
  Mine was the love of a growing flower
  For the sunshine.
  
  You had the power to explore me,
  Blossom me stalk by stalk;
  You woke my spirit, you bore me
  To consciousness, you gave me the dour
  Awareness  then I suffered a balk.
  
  Body to body I could not
  Love you, although I would.
  We kissed, we kissed though we should not.
  You yielded, we threw the last cast,
  And it was no good.
  
  You only endured, and it broke
  My craftsman's nerve.
  No flesh responded to my stroke;
  So I failed to give you the last
  Fine torture you did deserve.
  
  You are shapely, you are adorned
  But opaque and null in the flesh;
  Who, had I but pierced with the thorned
  Full anguish, perhaps had been cast
  In a lovely illuinined mesh
  
  Like a painted window; the best
  Fire passed through your flesh,
  Undrossed it, and left it blest
  In clean new awareness. But now
  Who shall take you afresh?
  
  Now who will burn you free
  From your body's deadness and dross?
  Since the fire has failed in me,
  What man will stoop in your flesh to plough
  The shrieking cross?
  
  A mute, nearly beautiful thing
  Is your face, that fills me with shame
  As I see it hardening;
  I should have been cruel enough to bring
  You through the flame.