Classic Poem

Thy life hath touched the edges of my life,
All glistening and moist with sunlit dew.
They touched, they paused, — then drifted wide apart,
Each gleaming with a rare prismatic hue.

'Twas but a touch! the edges of a life
Alone encolored with the rose, yet lo!
Each fibre started into strange unrest,
And then was stilled, lulled to a rhythmic flow.

Perchance our spirits clasp on some fair isle,
Bright with the sheen of reveries divine;
Or list'ning to such strains as chant the stars,
In purest harmony their tendrils twine.

God grant our souls may meet in Paradise,
After the mystery of life's sweet pain;
And find the strange prismatic hues of earth
Transmuted to the spotless light again.