Classic Poem

My love is like the snarl of haughty drums
And blare of trumpets, when a great one comes
Down some thronged breathless city thoroughfare:
And yours is like a song that fills the air
Of evening when the dew has made it sweet
And Peace walks through the dusk with quiet feet.

My love is like the visual shout of red
That threads the drowsing of a poppy bed
In summer, when the sun makes heavy heat:
And yours is like the white flower, cool and sweet,
That fills the shadow with a pleasant scent,
Unshrivelled by the sun and well content.

My dreams come robed in scarlet flame to me
And lead through gardens of strange phantasy
My wayward feet; where heavy odors cling
And birds of blood-red plumage nest and sing
Delirious loves, mad doubts and sacred trust,
The pathos and the joy of human dust.