Ylladmar in  General   

Her hair was, oh, so dense a blur
Of darkness, midnight envied her;
And stars grew dimmer in the skies
To see the glory of her eyes;
And all the summer rain of light
That showered from the moon at night
Fell o'er her features as the gloom
Of twilight o'er a lily-bloom.

The crimson fruitage of her lips
Was ripe and lush with sweeter wine
Than burgundy or muscadine
Or vintage that the burgher sips
In some old garden on the Rhine:
And I to taste of it could well
Believe my heart a crucible
Of molten love--and I could feel
The drunken soul within me reel
And rock and stagger till it fell.

And do you wonder that I bowed
Before her splendor as a cloud
Of storm the golden-sandaled sun
Had set his conquering foot upon?
And did she will it, I could lie
In writhing rapture down and die
A death so full of precious pain
I'd waken up to die again.

By James Whitcomb Riley

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Other poems by James Whitcomb Riley:

• A Barefoot Boy
• A Life-Lesson
• A Noon Interval
• A Parting Guest
• A Passing Hail
• A Song of the Road
• A Summer Afternoon
• Almost Beyond Endurance
• At Broad Ripple
• Granny
• Knee-Deep in June
• Liberty
• Nine Little Goblins
• Orlie Wilde
• Our Hired Girl
• The Bumblebee
• The Harper
• The Merman
• The Old Guitar
• The Old Times Were the Best
• The Raggedy Man
• The Rapture of the Year
• The Ripest Peach
• The Rival
• The Song of Yesterday
• The Willow
• There Was a Cherry-Tree
• To a Boy Whistling
• Unless
• We to Sigh Instead of Sing
• Wet-weather Talk
• When the Frost is on the Punkin
• Who Bides His Time
• Ylladmar