Classic Poem

The Autumn-pallid sun looks down
Upon your face that keeps the brown
Of Summer; and the yellow hair
That sweeps your brow is palely lit,
And like a gold net cast to snare
My soul, as if to capture it.
The end is now!

In poignant passion breast to breast
We stand, my arms about you lest
You lose my meaning — you who know
How loth I am to let you go.
That I might hold you ever thus!
It is the last hour left to us;
The end is now!

The symbolled bondage that you wear
Upon your hand I may not share;
It seems a fetter forged to hold
Your spirit down, — a chain to weigh
Upon your life; a glint of gold
From deepest hell; a curse to slay.
The end is now!

I mind me of the mountain wind
Whose healing fragrance left behind
So sweet a promise; and the flight
Of stags along the mountain height;
The dripping grass; the trailing mist;
The wooded vale where last we kissed.
The end is now!