Classic Poem

At last thou comest;
Thy footsteps I hear across the ages,
Over wandering fancies,
Through shadows of dreams
Is thy coming, Queen of queens.

This shimmering summer of life
That thou bringest with thee
As a gift to my silent waiting
Is but what I prayed to bring
To the altar of thy coming.

I spread the seat of my soul,
For thee to rest thy tired limbs;
And wave the fan of my heart
To cool thy lotus-shaming face,
Lady of light, queen of grace.

Come to my bower of worship,
Where burns the incense of devotion,
Lay thy rose-robed body
In the shrine of my longing,
Where love's rainbow-songs are ringing.