Classic Poem

Most beautiful! the red-flowering eucalyptus,
the madrone, the yew

Is he . . .
So thou wouldst smile, and take me in thine arms
The sight of London to my exiled eyes
Is as Elysium to a new-come soul

If he be Truth
I would dwell in the illusion of him

His hands unlocking from chambers of my male body

such an idea in man's image

rising tides that sweep me towards him

. . . homosexual?

and at the treasure of his mouth

pour forth my soul

his soul commingling

I thought a Being more than vast, His body leading
into Paradise, his eyes

quickening a fire in me, a trembling

hieroglyph: At the root of the neck

the clavicle , for the neck is the stem of the great artery
upward into his head that is beautiful

At the rise of the pectoral muscle,

the nipples , for the breasts are like sleeping fountains
of feeling in man, waiting above the beat of his heart,
shielding the rise and fall of his breath, to be
awakend

At the axis of his mid hriff

the navel , for in the pit of his stomach the chord from
which first he was fed has its temple

At the root of the groin

the public hair , for the torso is the stem in which the man
flowers forth and leads to the stamen of flesh in which
his seed rises

a wave of need and desire over taking me

cried out my name
(This was long ago. It was another life)
and said,
What do you want of me?

I do not know, I said. I have fallen in love. He
has brought me into heights and depths my heart

would fear without him. His look

pierces my side; fire eyes

I have been waiting for you, he said:
I know what you desire

you do not yet know but through me

And I am with you everywhere. In your falling

I have fallen from a high place. I have raised myself

from darkness in your rising

wherever you are

my hand in your hand seeking the locks, the keys

I am there. Gathering me, you gather

your Self

For my Other is not a woman but a man

the King upon whose bosom let me lie.