Classic Poem

Those lovely lunar faces
By hearths to which we strayed,
The spells around them woven
Within the gilded shade,
After an ancient resting place
The images were made.

Would we have stayed our questing,
Declined unto this lot,
Had love and home no story
Of the high things we sought,
Of that great House we parted from
And had not all forgot:

The peace as deep as being
Passed beyond sight or sound,
Where lover and beloved
Are in each other drowned,
Fulness unto the uttermost,
A deep that has no bound.

From memories and hauntings,
Through breathings of sweet air
On brow, in eyes and tresses,
Was set the tender snare,
All phantom of the deep content
The heart imagined there.

Brief balm for all our anguish
At that full life denied,
Even from the noblest beauty
Soon, soon, the wonder died.
Who won Helen and Deirdre's love,
Within their hearts they sighed.