Classic Poem

Lying in wounded rapture at my feet,
Adonis, like a slender limbed fawn,
Sang in a dying loveliness so sweet
He fainted in the dawn . . . .

Slain in a tempest of the soul. Who knows
But his inanimate body cold and white
Stirs me to wonder, as some moon-drenched rose
Upon a summer night.

Oh, I shall take him now to be my own,
Our bridal-couch the damp worm-cankered sod,
And my fond kisses shall be only known