The Spell

If this Beauty I could forever hold...

Scents of sylvan bloom infuse his senses,
Here he lies with her unrestrained-- no pretenses.

Beneath the emerald canopy of ancient trees,
Love strikes the hour- a spell he cannot flee.

With every shuddering breath, he is reborn
Her sweet flesh sings to him, the old human song.

That which he craved, for uncounted years past,
The saccharine wine of love, he has tasted at last.

Creation applauds in unanimous praise
This youthful lover: See how his heart is ablaze!

An embrace, a touch, a lingering kiss- He
In ethereal poetry of love, is never remiss.

Now the idle candle's lit-- it has come to pass
He will, in anxious zest, all these moments amass.

In a covetous grip, this solitary passion he holds,
Oft, the Beloved image, he carefully moulds.

But of a sudden, a disturbance, a knock furthermore,
Alas, he awakes, only to see the dream no more.

With heavy heart swollen- in pain, he turns
Over, awaiting sleep he knows, in vain...