Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/155

 Do out thine utmost revel on the bloom Of this rare flower's beauty, now at full; Whose summer is just perfected to-night And laid before thee, heightened with the tint Of first mysterious sadness, like a touch Of far-off autumns. Do not shun that mouth: For there, indeed, a thing most dainty-sweet— The last kiss that was sown a precious seed By Love at the beginning—waits for thee, The fullest, the most perfect of them all. The earth will never fashion forth, and Love Will never with his summer paint again So beautiful a flower.

I am clasped With such arms as I would might hold me so For evermore in heaven. All around, The strange unearthly fragrance of her hair Is coming up, and, with an element Divine as some transparent rosy cloud, Enwrapping both of us; ay, and, as though— A very cloud of magic—it had borne