Classic Poem

You have passed in all the collaterals of love but where is love?
You have brought me love's dresses and love's habits and love's alphabets but have not brought me love,
You have brought me soul's love that forgot the body,
You have brought me body's love that forgot the soul,
But love still waits expecting a complete return
For I, said love, when I take possession of life,
I, too, sing, and sing a song beyond the songs of song,
For I go singing not in words but in shapes and phantoms that give words leave to be.
You put your ear to the roots of the trees and you hear my song,
Or to the shuttle of the loom and hear my song,
Or to the farmer's plow and hear my song,
Or to the needle of the sewer and hear my song,
Or to the heart, not the lips, of the famous woman who sings and hear my song,
Or to anything anywhere away from words and hear my song:
For outside the meanings of my song there is no meaning to me,
For if life in all its heaven and hell escapes me then I am empty and count like a cipher.

I have trailed myself laboriously in all the ages through the phrases of the parleyers with words,
But I have found that words are only loyal when they report back to life again and ask for orders:
And I who am love am the only life,
And therefore words must report back to me forever for their consequent realities.