Classic Poem

Nay, had but you, most beautiful, most loved,
Given me all my way:
Thrown back your gorgeous head out of pure joy,
Nor stirred at all, till I
Had with three hundred thousand kisses shut
Those honied eyes of yours;
My heart would not have sated been: No, no!
Not if our kisses' score
Surpassed the infinite ears of ripened corn,
That summer looks upon.