Triumph of the Singer

I shake my hair in the wind of morning   For the joy within me that knows no bounds. I echo backward the vibrant beauty   Wherewith heaven’s hollow lute resounds. I shed my song on the feet of all men,   On the feet of all shed out like wine; On the whole and the hurt I shed my bounty,   The beauty within me that is not mine. Turn not away from my song, nor scorn me,   Who bear the secret that holds the sky And the stars together; but know within me   There speaks another more wise than I. Nor spurn me here from your heart to hate me,   Yet hate me here if you will. Not so Myself you hate, but the love within me   That loves you whether you would or no. Here love returns with love to the lover   And beauty unto the heart thereof, And hatred unto the heart of the hater,   Whether he would or no, with love!