On the white bosom, 'tween the breasts <br />Of Helen Love has made his bower, <br />As in a sweet and secret tower <br />Where mid the world's decay he rests — <br />A bridegroom in his dream's desire <br />With the imperial bride whose brow <br />Is great with beauty now, <br />Whose eyes have the old fire <br />That in their passion's joy <br />Burnt to a cinder on the towers of Troy! <br />All youths and virgins may go there, <br />And thence their hearts as torches light, <br />Fragrant and fresh as new-born air <br />In the old world's serenest might — <br />May learn from Love and his warm mate <br />The secret of the tender tune <br />Of that long honeymoon, <br />That like the fire of Fate <br />Still in their passion's joy <br />Burns to a cinder on the towers of Troy!<br /><br />Robert Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-s-bower/
