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Unique an art a blooming into grace;
But none to see thus none to worship thee.
Beyond e'en death, e'en ere in thine embrace;
To somewhither, where'er an Eden be.
An orchid rare, but one, as is the moon,
Whose light steals o'er the still erelong to move.
To move usward, we twain 'till we in bloom,
And matters nay, might some, pray, disapprove.
Our morrow's love as love wist yesterday,
For aye and aye yonside the states of time.
Lo! Dim the eventide ere night's dismay;
The twilit mind, the deep, the dark sublime.
'Tis sad a tale, an orchid rare, but one;
In sleep, in dreams of love, awoken none.
But none to see thus none to worship thee.
Beyond e'en death, e'en ere in thine embrace;
To somewhither, where'er an Eden be.
An orchid rare, but one, as is the moon,
Whose light steals o'er the still erelong to move.
To move usward, we twain 'till we in bloom,
And matters nay, might some, pray, disapprove.
Our morrow's love as love wist yesterday,
For aye and aye yonside the states of time.
Lo! Dim the eventide ere night's dismay;
The twilit mind, the deep, the dark sublime.
'Tis sad a tale, an orchid rare, but one;
In sleep, in dreams of love, awoken none.
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