Spell

From the moonlit brink of dreams
        I stretch foiled hands to thee,
O borne down other streams
        Than eye can think to see!
O crowned with spirit-beams!
        O veiled spirituality!

My dreams and thoughts abate
        Their pennons at thy feet,
O angel born too late
        For fallen men to meet!
In what new sensual state
        Could our twined lives feel sweet?

What new emotion must
        I dream to think thee mine?
What purity of lust?
        O tendrilled as a vine
Around my caressed trust!
        O dream-pressed spirit-wine!