Classic Poem

WHEREIN HER SALUTATION DRIVES ALL ELSE FROM HIS MIND

She in whose face is shown my stricken heart,
As with Love's reveries I sat alone,
Glittered before me: O fire in flesh and bone!
I rose, with forehead pale and lips apart.
Who, having seen me stare and felt me start,
Addressed toward me such a look soft-blown
As in Jove's fiercest frenzy might unthrone
His wrath and from his fingers tear the dart.
I trembled; she moved on in her sweet way,
Shedding a grace and speaking words whose sound,
Like her soft eyes, turned all my soul around.
When on that pure salute my fond thoughts play,
Such infinite luxury assaults the sense,
I feel no pain, no evil influence.