Anna Hempstead Branch - The Wound lyrics

Wounded am I, yet happier--happier far Than they who have not felt the precious sting! Poor feet that bleed not with this wandering! Poor hands that burn not, plucking at a star! Poor hearts unblessed and whole! I bear the scar Of a too piercing loveliness. The thing Hung out of reach I touched, and now I sing Mad with delight, more blessed than others are. For since the blushing and ethereal hour When loveliness upon my heart was born, When I was stricken by her magic power, I run--I run--wild, ecstasied, forlorn, For beauty, when I go to pluck her flower, Pierces my willing bosom with a thorn.