Classic Poem

THE STORM OF BEAUTY

At times my lady seizes me and flings
 Her arms around mine unreluctant form
 And wraps me for a season in the storm,
The thunder of the closing of her wings,
And I am as some white glad bird that clings
 Against a purple cloud-breast, and I weep,
 And strive with shuddering fainting hands to keep
That vision of unutterable things.

For she bends over me as some pure cloud,
 And I am as a flower that will dare,
 Being supremely weak, to face the air
That hangs above it as a sweet dim shroud;
Next, my strained body sobs with yearning, bowed
 Beneath the fragrant tempest of her hair.