Caput Tuum ut Carmelus

I watch the arch of her head,
As she turns away from me. . . .
I would I were with the dead,
Drowned with dead at sea,
All the waves rocking; over me!

As St. Peter turned and fled
From the Lord, because of sin,
I look on that lovely head;
And its majesty doth win
Grief in my heart as for sin.

Oh, what can death have to do
With a curve that is drawn so fine,
With a curve that is drawn as true
As the mountain's crescent line? . . . .
Let me be hid where the dust falls fine!