Classic Poem

Even now your eyes are mixed in mine.
I see you not, but surely, he —
This stricken gaze, has looked on thee,
From him your glances shine.

Even now I felt your hand in mine.
This breeze that warms my open palm
Has surely kist yours; such thrilled calm
No lull can disentwine.

The words you spoke just now, how sweet!
These grasses heard and bend to tell.
The green grows pale your speech to spell,
How its green heart must beat!

I breathe you. Here the air enfolds
Your absent presence, as fire cleaves,
Leaving the places warm it leaves.
Such warmth a warm word holds.

Bruised are our words and our full thought
Breaks like dull rain from some rich cloud.
Our pulses leap alive and proud.
Colour, not heat, is caught.