The World Will Say, &Quot;What Mystic Love Is This&Quot; Poem by George Guerin

The world will say, "What mystic love is this"?
What ghostly mistress? What Angelic friend?
Read, Masters, your own passion to the end,
And tell me then if I have writ amiss.
When all love die that hang upon a kiss,
And with Cavil and with chance contend,
Their risen selves with Eternal blend
Where perfect dying is their perfect bliss.
And might I kiss her once, asleep or dead.
Upon the forehead or the globbed eyes.
Or where the Gold is parted on her head.
As if I kissed the consecrated bread
In which the buried Soul of Alta lies.