The Moment

LAST miracle of all the motes of time,
But now become my bride, my spirit’s bliss,
Only to die in evanescent prime
Like love expiring upon a kiss!
Now while I have thee mine, I have the whole
This rounded earth has to her children lent,
The moon and sea and their pervasive soul
That is the breath of beauty’s bodiment.

Go not! though thy dim crowding sisters throng
The sequence of inexorable days,
Daughters of bliss or pain, lament and song,
Pausing no more than thou for prayer or praise,
Still to my eyes let thy dear beauties be
The untroubled star in waveless memory.