Classic Poem

Has not the night been as a drunken rose
Without a witness? And the girl of bloom
Has given up all. What little cries of joy!
What wanton words repeated!
But white dawn shows the rose and green pet bird,
The mighty talker and awake all night.
Hark! The old woman comes; he will tell all.
What shall she, fluttering? Snap small rubies off
From the bright ear-rings, facets sharp as steel;
These with the seed-pulp of the passion-fruit,
His sweet prepared breakfast, mingle featly ...
So, busy jargoner, silent for ever more.