Classic Poem

Dear little Heart,
May I whisper a prayer
For a boon ere we part,
For a kiss — may I dare
Say — say — where?

'Tis a valley, dear Heart,
With two hills soft as snow,
'Tis a garden where one,
Only one, dear, may go,
A garden where wonderful
Gold apples grow.

And the shade of the hills
Is an infinite rest,
And a mouth to those apples
May ever be pressed,
Yet their honey live on: for,
They grow — in thy Breast.

Dear flower that standest
Sweet sentinel there,
May I come
To my home?
Understandest?
My home ,
Flower;
Our
Home!
May I dare?

O Love! love! I fear,
For the air is too sweet —
Softly, love — O my dear —
Yea, too sweet
On a sudden to meet
Mortal mouth!
O my sweet! O my sweet!
The long drouth!
And at last, dear,
O think —
The long drink!