Classic Poem

The true possession is the holy sense
Of love and of ecstatic victory.
Such true possession, love, was given to me:—
A glory of triumph tenderly intense.
A passion without envy or offence
Was mine,—and that clear passion's blest reward
Was the achievement of a golden sword
That severed all the barriers dark and dense.

One night when thou wast reading of my love,
My yearning drew thee,—and thy spirit came,
Like a white-winged and golden-crested dove,
With plumage touched by passion as by flame:
And that night all the road between us lay
Open as meadows where glad children play.