Classic Poem

‘O H , Acme love!’ Septimius cried,
As on his lap he held his bride,—
‘If all my heart is not for thee,
And doats not on thee desperately,
And if it doat not more and more,
As desperate heart ne'er did before,
May I be doomed, on desert ground,
To meet the lion in his round!’
He said; and Love, on tiptoe near him,
Kind at last, and come to cheer him,
Clapped his little hands to hear him.
But Acme to the bending youth
Just dropping back that rosy mouth,
Kissed his reeling, hovering eyes,
And ‘O my life, my love!’ replies,
So may our constant service be
To this one only Deity,
As with a transport doubly true
He thrills your Acme's being through!’
She said; and Love, on tiptoe near her,
Kind at last, and come to cheer her,
Clapped his little hands to hear her
Favoured thus by heav'n above,
Their lives are one return of love;
For he, poor fellow, so possessed,
Is richer than with East and West,—
And she, in her enamoured boy,
Finds all that she can frame of joy
Now who has seen, in Love's subjection,
Two more blest in their connection,
Or a more entire affection?