Love's Sacrament
By George Sterling
How high the Dreams that in thy spirit wake!
I cannot deem thee made alone for bliss,
Tho' better instant death than that I miss
The raptures in thy keeping, and forsake
Such joys immeasurable as could break
A god's deep heart with ecstasy like this.
Thy maiden arms, thy ravishing, slow kiss—
Ah! dearest! dearest! proffer that I take!
Yet must I take upon my bended knee,
Lest the twain seraphs in our bosoms weep
And human touch not lips with the divine.
How shall I know of Heaven apart from thee?—
Thou for whom nights are wide and oceans deep!
Thou for whose soul Infinity is shrine!
Carmel.