Classic Poem

I asked sweet love,
Where we should meet,
And greet,
Secure from slips?
On earth beneath, in heaven above?
He answer'd quick with quivering wings,
That perfumed zephyrs stirr'd around,
All crisp with spray from springs
Of tears,
Deep laid in rapture's heart profound,
Long gathered in immemorial years: —
" We'll meet, sir, on your lady's lips. "