Classic Poem

First, Color: hangings of the vital hue
Of life-blood, soft to sight the warm, wet red,
Broidered with lordly forms in varied silks
And curiously wrought with golden thread;
The warmth of living color deep and bright
To sweetly satisfy the hungry sight.

Next, Fragrance: incense-odors of the East
Mixed with these roses dying at our feet,
And irritating scent of iris-flowers,
And heliotropes' soft smell, voluptuous-sweet,
Mixed with some poppies' bitter, drowsy breath
To hint that Pleasure falls asleep in Death.

And Music: pangs of sharp and dissonant cries,
Assuaged by murmuring notes of deep content,
And poignant calls, and amorous, low replies,
And agony, and languors strangely blent,
And one seductive phrase to do its part,
Ever recurring, torn from Music's heart.

Then Love: now end, my ballad, with this name,
Ultimate sweetness of these ministering things;
For lo, my gaze is turned upon the ground,
And lo, my mouth, made mute, no longer sings.
Words for these prelude-notes, — but ah, no word
For this most rapturous concluding chord!