Classic Poem

And thou wilt lie within my arms!
The magic thought confounds
My trembling soul with sweet amaze;
My heart with rapture bounds.

And thou wilt lie within my arms!
I'll stroke thy golden hair,
And on my shoulder thou wilt lean
Thy head so fond and fair.

Yes, thou wilt rest within my arms!
No lying dream is this.
Already I shall taste on earth
Of heaven's highest bliss.

O Doubting Thomas! To believe
My heart will be afraid,
Until upon my rapture's wounds
My finger I have laid.