Classic Poem

If I have touched thy heart, as Solomon,
When seemed the world dissolving in a kiss,
Upon the pages wonder-white with prayer
With lyric fingers laid his rose of song;
And if the most I am is just — a man,
Why yet, Beloved, in that I am thine,
I must not ask forgiveness; this I write
Is all and more than I can say I am;
Like veiled music through the threadbare words
Thy heart is beating even now, for I
Have seen the morning quicken through its sleep
In cycles of dim song. Thou canst not say
What I have given is deserving scorn,
For I have naught to give that is not Thine.