Classic Poem

Your glance is dark and your cheek is pale,
I see that you comprehend.
No longer do sport and jest prevail,
Let earnest come at the end!

You kindled in play a spark of desire,
Which grows ever more and more,
Till now it burns us, that ruthless fire
That burned so many before.

You cannot quench it, you cannot flee
That glow which bursts into flame,
Its hot cloud enwraps us fearsomely —
Then bide the chance of the game!

Let the blaze leap up as high as it will,
Let the flames to heaven uproll,
And oh, give thanks unto fate that still
Such fire is in your soul!