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!