Soon come the winter days, when white Altair <br />Spreads wings above the sunset. Soon the snow, <br />A fleeting seed the twilight heavens sow, <br />Descends from frigid levels of the air; <br />Chill grow the evenings we were born to share, <br />And mute the hours wherein our souls might grow. <br />Ah! make not Death our passion's afterglow. <br />Nor mix my final worship with despair! <br /> <br />Come soon, for soon- a night is- on our years, <br />And soon the kissing lips have dust to taste! <br />Love! I await thee with my flesh a flame. <br />Oh! breast to breast, and mouths a-salt with tears <br />Of rending bliss, soon let us lie! Make haste! <br />For music's heart is holy with thy name!<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/adoration-11/
