Classic Poem

Passionate fragrance of hyacinth bloom
Through the still calm o' the night
Shot to the depth of the gathered gloom
A scent, a sound, a light;
[Ideally] with thought of an endless land
Hid in this triune power,
A beautiful scorn that the soul may understand,
The wordless oracle sweet in the breathing flower —
A passion of infinite glory, of vision pent
In the sight and touch of a flower,
Where lies the land of the light, the sound, the scent,
The land of one hour?
Or must the urge at the heart of a love-thrilled soul
Find its supreme fruition here, where the hours
Fall past to death and under death's control
Faint oracles are fair in passionate flowers?
Is love the thought of love? and love's desire
Alone, the whole of love? Is love no higher?
Yea, through all chance and change, is love no nigher?