He came from her, and though rough and uncouth,
It seemed her tenderness breathed out of him
As he re-worded her sweet sentences.
O Sweet, thy lips, how sweet their kisses are!
Rarer than rosy dewdrops amorous
That in the lily's tender bosom fall,
I am one with thee, and thou
Art a vision of me now,
Which love, and not life, has made;
It with life, then, may not fade,
The heart's throb makes the music: words are air,
A mortal breath, if no emotion thrills
The subtle syllables; and all men own
We have this life, this love only —
Kiss me on the mouth, my own!
Dust we'll soon be through the ages,
And who'll reck when we are gone?
Love's but to be had this way:
Reverent you must be with her,
Letting your heart night and day
Dreamy in her beauty stir.
The mist is in the town to-night,
And all the streets are dumb and drear;
The passers-by as ghosts appear,
On that strange sea
Where Man's bark moves as toward eternity,
What sails put forth that are not seen again!
.... Joyous it may be, or in pain,
O ye gods, if you could tell us
What ye are — if banned or blest —
Ye that reigned of old in Hellas!
Ye that ruled the radiant West!