Classic Poem

Is it your face, is it a dream?
Your face I dream in such a mist
Of rosy gold and amethyst?
Is it your eyes that flicker and gleam
Like mocking stars beneath the shade
Of leafy hair that seems to have curled
Its tendrils to blot out the world?
Dreams are the truth: let the world fade!
And these warm spires of heat that rise
Out of my heart into my brain,
Are they not flames lighted in vain
At the enchantment of your eyes?
I shudder with the fear of hope,
Giddy expectancy consumes
My senses; but what breath perfumes
The air with scents of heliotrope?
I sicken with a wild desire,
I drown in sweetness, till it seems
As if the after-taste of dreams
Came back into my mouth like fire.