Clark Ashton Smith

Blind with your softly fallen hair,
I turn me from the twilight air;
And, ah, the wordless tale of love
My lips upon your lips declare!

High stars are on the shadowy south—
Unseen, unknown: the urgent drouth
Of desolate years in one deep kiss
Would drain the sweetness of your mouth.

Our straining arms that clasp and close
Ache with an ecstasy that grows,
And passion in our secret veins,
Like burning amber, glows and glows.

This love is sweet to have and hold,
Better than sandalwood or gold,
After the barren, bitter loves,
The mad and mournful loves of old.

This love is fortunate and fair,
Behind its veil of fallen hair;
This love has soft and clinging arms,
And a kind bosom, warm and bare.

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