Love's Companion

By George Sterling

Thy memories are seraphs that abide:
    This has thy smile to welcome me, and this
    The immeasurable rapture of thy kiss;
For all the radiant band seems but allied
To hold my heart in Paradise and guide
    My feet on all its ways of final bliss;
    And well I know at last I shall not miss
The throning path that leads me to thy side.

And then—and then! Oh! pure, impassioned lips!
    O blossoms that my very heart hath kist!
        How shall I touch, nor crush, your tenderness,
From which all fragrance into music slips,
    Till earth and sky seem only to exist
        To shrine you, making Heaven itself the less?


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