Classic Poem

How shall my love be told?
The rainbow alchemist
That turns the sunshine gold
To green and amethyst;
A princess in brocade,
Woods dipped in autumn dyes.
A holiday parade
Of tinted butterflies;
The million-colored blooms
Whose dainty buds and leaves
Were wrought in fairy looms
On sweet midsummer eves;
The jeweled domes and spires
That rise with vesper hymn
Beyond the western fires —
Are all too dim.

How shall I tell my love?
The snowflake petals shed
From happy garths above
Wherein they blossomed
On trees of cloudy grace;
The frost that decks the pine
With weft of glittering lace
In exquisite design;
The pearl in ocean deeps,
And lilies half unblown,
A marble shaft that keeps
The moonlight watch alone,
Chalcedony, the gleam
Of angels in their flight,
These, for my soul's pure dream,
Are not too white.

O, love misunderstood!
My song no symbol knows.
The blush of maidenhood,
The swarthy tropic rose,
The lightning flash that rends
The veil of heaven in twain;
Pomegranate branch that bends
With fruit of ruddy stain;
Coals in the evening grate,
Whereon who strictly looks
Sees elves illuminate
His sealed spirit-books;
The fiery hearts that groan
In seared volcanoes old;
The sun on flaming throne —
Are all too cold.