Classic Poem

When thou art from me, when I cannot glance
Upon thy rarest beauty, and when mind
And soul are panoplied in veils unkind
Of thought forgetful, errant; when a trance

Dims all my sense, then a sweet spirit grants
A power to feel thy presence: for I find
Thine image in strange forms, when musings wind
Coils of aromas, steeped like wines of France

In fragrant vagueness, redolent and sharp;
Perfumes that bring to mind a soul-thrilled harp,
Odors ecstatic, smells of youth's desire,
Musk blent with sound, or music heard through air.
The scents of breaths that gasp, with lovely fire
Scents of thy loveliness, nude, white and fair!