Classic Poem

I am content; I twine thy deep dark hair
With August flowers: the meadow-sweet I bring
That long ago in sorrow I did sing,
Ere love renewed for me his music fair.
Thou passest through me like some viewless air
Of summer, touching with thy fragrant wing
My lips and eyes: white blossoms round thee cling,
Whiter than e'en our snowiest May can bear.

The marvellous perfume of the old lost dream
Again pervades me; once again some flower
Ne'er known on earth, but whose white petals gleam
Perhaps in some redolent angelic bower.
Wraps me in speechless scent, — and, as of old,
Thy white arms, shuddering softly, round me fold.