Love's Temple

  
‘T is naught the beating orb
Of thine own blood-force,—  
The honorarium goes hence  
To a blithe spirit whence  
All things imbued, in course.  
   
Follow as thine essence own,  
Embrace and is embraced;  
To give free-rein and to chase  
Where e’er it doth insatiate;—  
To fly in such a mask belies  
Yet closer to revealing.  
   
As one who is a god,  
That promises, concealing  
Where else it is going;  
Needing no direction,  
No question, no answer,—  
When all you know  
You silence, and avow,  
And receive from love  
What it is you have endowed.  
   
All to the god for heart sake,  
Who accepts and abides  
All terms with thee;  
The strength of offering,  
With joyful sense  
Of keen intense;  
To a bond of future’s maid,  
Investment fully paid.  
   
That does not bind her whole  
But shows intent,  
For love, as arbiter,  
Shall repay you your faith  
With season’s garland  
Placed upon  
From whither maiden’s haste;  
A rose-stem missive,  
And bee-stung kisses.  
   
A butterfly that flutters by,  
To skim the pond;  
Thy floating reflections,  
Of hopes arising free  
On mists of utter certainty.  
   
   
   
   
   
#RalphWaldoEmerson