Classic Poem

Once more! To summon up, in one wild minute,
All dreams, and songs, and visions past of you,
Is as a white rose with a serpent in it
Erecting crest of poisonous subtle blue.
'Tis as a forest, sweet and softly tender,—
But whose green depths, if stealthily explored,
The cottage of some fiend to sight would render
Who sways its avenues, a fetid lord.
It is as if the spring contained the winter;
All sweet and seemly visions, somewhat foul;
Bright summer waves, a floating icy splinter;
A monk, a murderer behind his cowl;—
So strange a thing it is to mingle thee
With this our parting's utter agony!