Classic Poem

There is a love beyond the love we hold
In earthly grasp of over-eager hand, —
A love that bloometh in another land,
With petals of divine untarnished gold.
When from the shuddering organ notes are rolled
Conveying hints we fail to understand,
Or when with slender moonlight on the sand
A distant horn blends paeans clear and bold: —

When music at these seasons wakes in us
Some glimpse of evanescent heavenly fire,
When learn that love is consummated thus!
Yea, woman's hands in heaven are a lyre,
And all her snow-white body a stream of sound
Whereby we are caught; close-chained, caressed, close-bound.