Classic Poem

Belovèd, let me grope and lie
In the triumphant reaches of your soul;
That singing and barbaric sky
Which is my goal.

Age cannot make the way less fresh;
And bar me if I ever dare despise
The close and friendly house of flesh
Through which it lies.

But ever slowly let me move
Through twisting roads of passion, gates of care;
And the dark labyrinth of love
That leads me there.