Classic Poem

I know thou hast a secret of thine own
Which I desire. But once I broke with thee
And walked among the asphodel alone:
Therefore thou wilt reserve this reverie,
Like sumptuous flame closed up in alabaster.
They half betray, these curious magian hands:
Faint music of thy breast has throbbed the faster,
If I have touched it with my charming-wands.
And yet,--the wonder any woman knows
Thou dost deny the proud Soul that has fed
Among the lilies of the White Eros.--
Ere I go down among the witless Dead
Give, give the secret, for my bliss or rue,
Lest lack of that should craze my wisdom through.