My would-be Lover, wait—believe me, this
Perchance shall prove, of all, the fairest hour;
When I have felt your arms' compelling power,
When I have known the rapture of your kiss,
Life may not hold again such tranquil bliss—
Eternal forfeit! Friendship's perfect flower
Withers before the Sun-God's golden dower,
Will you not grant me, now, an armistice?
Let us call loyal truce that we may steep
The mind and heart and soul in this rich sense
Of full communion.—Faith, serene and deep,
Shall hold our passion to an innocence
Of spirit union—Wait,—and let Love sleep
Before the blinding harvest he shall reap.