Classic Poem

Asleep, my Zeno! With what wanton grace
The damask blooms upon that smiling face.
A wingless dream might I those eyelids close
And near inhale the fragrance of that rose.
Not e'en the sleep that charms the gods above
Should come between us then to mar our love.
But in enfolding arms securely pressed
Alone I'd lull my darling to her rest.