 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XII
Let red lips lift, proud curl'd to kiss,And round limbs lean and lift and reach
In love too passionate for speech,
Too full of blessedness and bliss
For anything but this and this;
Let pure lips lean warm, kind to kiss;
Swoon in sweet love, while all the air
Is redolent with balm of trees,
And mellow with the song of bees,
While birds sit singing everywhere—
And you will have not any more
Than I in boyhood, by that shore
Of olives, had in years of yore.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |