  With her soft face half turned to me Like an arrested moonbeam, she Stood in the cirque of that deep tree. I took her by the hands; she raised Her face to mine; and, half amazed, I kissed her; and we stood and gazed. How good to kiss her throat and hair, And say no word!—Her throat was bare, And, as the slim moon, young and fair.— Had God not given us life for this? The world-old, amorous happiness Of arms that clasp, and lips that kiss. O eloquence of limbs and arms! O rhetoric of breasts, whose charms Say to the sluggish blood what warms! Had God not smiled upon this hour That bloomed,—where love had all of power,— The senses' aphrodisiac flower? The dawn was far away: the night Hung savage stars of sultry white, Lamp-like, above to give us light. Night, night, who led us each to each, Where heart with heart could hold sweet speech, With life's best gift within our reach. And here it was—between the goals Of flesh and spirit, sex controls— Took place the marriage of our souls. |
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