Classic Poem

Fain would I write to thee, and great display
Of reed and scroll have I, — and naught to say
But that my heart is hotter than noon-day.

Beloved, while the poor reed halts and lingers,
Tracing strange patterns in my heedless fingers,
The long, slow tears
Make bold to write upon my tell-tale cheek
In a clear hand the things I dare not speak.

But for this strife and warring after power
I might have come to thee, as to the flower
Nightly the dew,
Once, only once, from thy warm sleep to wake thee,
To love thee for a night, and then forsake thee.

Dearest, the dewy rose would be for us
The hour-glass of our ecstasy; and thus,
While the dew lies,
Time should be slave to Love, till with the day
The shaken rose-leaf cry: " Away, away! "