Musing upon the mysteries of the flesh,
I am as some hierophant of old
For whom the temple's hidden valves unfold.
Remembering now your tresses' heavy mesh
A little harsh beneath my pillowed face;
The savor of your bosom and the scent;
Your warmth, a blissful essence immanent,
Flooding my veins in the long unstirred embrace;
Your eyes, beheld so close their glory seemed
One strange great orb; your laughter's gentle fall:-
Remembering these, I know the mystical
Round lotos ripening, locked in garths of night,
And sighing of those live fountains that have streamed
In Edens of a seven-sensed delight.
Illumination
Clark Ashton Smith
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Poem topics: laughter, night, hidden, embrace, gentle, long, great, face, delight, essence, live, heavy, strange, beneath, warmth, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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