Classic Poem

Eros, why should one or two small notes
Of thrilled birds in Spring—
Why should one or two gay motes
Tangled round the beams on wing—
Why should delicate, first flowers,
Have such powers
That all music sweeps me wild,
That all light of June is piled
In my eyes, and gardens flow
All the colour to me they shall grow?

By thy eloquence, O God of Love,
We are made alive …
Thou with art all arts above
Dost against our slumber drive
Little shudderings of voice,
Clear and choice;
Stroke of slender rays to wake
Our desire that summer break
On us in meridian heat,
Primroses by roses made effete.