Love is the sunlight of the soul, <br />That, shining on the silken-tressèd head <br />Of her we love, around it seems to shed <br /> A golden angel-aureole. <br /> <br /> And all her ways seem sweeter ways <br />Than those of other women in that light: <br />She has no portion with the pallid night, <br /> But is a part of all fair days. <br /> <br /> Joy goes where she goes, and good dreams— <br />Her smile is tender as an old romance <br />Of Love that dies not, and her soft eye’s glance <br /> Like sunshine set to music seems. <br /> <br /> Queen of our fate is she, but crowned <br />With purple hearts-ease for her womanhood. <br />There is no place so poor where she has stood <br /> But evermore is holy ground. <br /> <br /> An angel from the heaven above <br />Would not be fair to us as she is fair: <br />She holds us in a mesh of silken hair, <br /> This one sweet woman whom we love. <br /> <br /> We pray thee, Love, our souls to steep <br />In dreams wherein thy myrtle flowereth; <br />So when the rose leaves shiver, feeling Death <br /> Pass by, we may remain asleep: <br /> <br /> Asleep, with poppies in our hands, <br />From all the world and all its cares apart— <br />Cheek close to cheek, heart beating against heart, <br /> While through Life’s sandglass run the sands<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-93/
