Classic Poem

Never will you hold me
With puddings and cake
Or even the threat
Of a heart to break.

Never will you hold me
With knife, fork, and spoon
As long as the road lies
Under the moon.

Nor phantoms at fireside
With grief in the room,
Nor obvious candles
To jewel the gloom.

But a song satyr-footed,
A mood of gowns of gold,
And laughter like a wine-cup—
These things hold.

A song within a song
And eyes upon the door—
And you will always hold me