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.