By George Sterling
How exquisitely, darling, art thou made For love! Thy body, all of pearl and rose, Hath passion's keenest rapture to disclose, Tho' like a pure and perfect lily, laid On Aphrodite's altar, ne'er to fade If Dian comes full-envious, and shows Her wannest lilies in the moonlight's snows. Thou art Love's sun, as other loves his shade! Ah! would that in a secret dusk we lay, On gathered hearts of Eden's whitest flow'rs, With ghosts of Eden's fragrance on the air, Breast unto breast in swoon too sweet to say What ecstasy was blossom of the hours, What mystery was Love's supremest care!
Written in Carmel.