Classic Poem

White eyelids tremble on thine eyes,
Dark lashes quiver on thy cheek;
Thy passive lips dispart with sighs,
But never speak.

O love of mine, what thoughts hast thou?
What thoughts make tumult in thy brain,
When on thy mouth and hair and brow
My kisses rain?

Is thought not trampled in the mire
By passion's panic-eager feet?
What knowst thou but a face on fire
With kisses sweet?

Are thoughts not dead? Nay, nay, they thrive;
Lo, soul to soul we twain are brought
Intensely, wondrously alive
In every thought.

The discords of chaotic hours
Are linked in harmony at last;
The Present into crimson flowers
Evolves the Past.

This is no mere corporeal bliss:
No joy the grudging senses dole.
It is the hungry whirlwind kiss
Of soul and soul.