XVI

I do not know how much you value thisA gift you may not want or even prizeBut it is more than just a casual kiss, A vow unspoken but beyond surmise. You cannot judge the measure of the thirst That leaned to drink unstinted at the pool Of your desire-though I am not the first Nor apt to be the last demented fool.

This I do know: as far as I'm concerned,

I have come home who have been long away. The bridges I have crossed have all been burned. I am committed to this love this day

Which well may end in sorrow. Even so

I would not have it otherwise, you know.

XVII

I know that on the mountains of the moon

Dwell lovers whom grey Death has overtakenBreaking into their ecstasy too soon.

And binding them before they could awaken. Caught in a spell forever amorous

They float in stardust or suspended time With all that's beautiful and glamorous Immortalized in that enchanted clime.

It may be that in such etherial

And insubstantial passion they aspire

To an existence less siderial,

And long to feel again the leaping fire

That burned in them and made each moment fresh

With exultation in their ardent flesh.

XVIII

There were, I find, in other days and climes, Recorded loves of which the poets sang.

Their lyrics now illuminate our times,

And we, as they, experience the pang;

As wandering now in this forbidden landBemused by what has been and yet to beThe days go by and nothing has been planned Beyond this moment we hold blissfully.

So we in our fond moments on the earth May wear the laurel and instruct the young In the dear liberties, the tender mirth Of this bright miracle so lately sprung To flower in our hearts. It could well be Poets unborn may sing of you and me.

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