To My Love

"PAINT me," you said, "a poem; give to me

A breathing thought that I may keep to kiss!"

While that low laugh that aye a mandate is

Nestled upon your lips. Call memory

To that fair moment when you heard my plea,

And in the tumult of my arms' warm bliss,

Like a frail floweret that is crushed amiss.

You thrilled to frenzied life exultantly,

And all your body pulsed with love's desire!

Can I in words that perfect hour rehearse,

Or write the vehemence of veins on fire?

My lips would only kiss — and you require

From my heart's royal hoard one pallid verse —

The grey, cold ashes left on passion's pyre!