Parfait Amour

David Park Barnitz

It is not that thy face is fair
     As dying sunsets are,
Nor that thy lovely eyelids wear
     The splendour of a star;
Tis the deep sadness of thine eyes
     Hath my heart captive led,
And that within thy soul I prize
     The calmness of the dead.

O holy love, O fair white face,
     O sweet lost soul of thine!
Thy bosom is an altar-place,
     Thy kisses holy wine;
Sweet incense offer'd for my bliss
     Is thy corrupted breath,
And on thy stained lips I kiss
     The holy lips of Death!

Wherefore because thy heart is all
     Fill'd full of mournfulness,
And thy gold head as with a pall
     Hung o'er with sinfulness;
Because thy soul is utterly
     Sinful unto the core
Therefore my heart is bound to thee,
     Dear love, forevermore!

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