Your Hands, Your Hair

Your hands go breathing over me,
A warm breath follows them:
Christ in His agony
Knew how tender hands can be —
Christ on His Tree,
Christ in Bethlehem.

Your hair shadows my blood-beat
Cool as cyclamen:
Christ in His winding-sheet
Remembered hair against His feet
Bitterly and blindly sweet ...
Oh, the hair of Magdalen!