Like the cold beauty of the snow,
Beloved, is your countenance,
And intangible as shadow
Is my own foggy temperance;
You are the rationale of thought
And I the haste that feeling wrought.
To my moonlit silver you are
The triumphant glory of gold,
The radiant sunburst of your star,
The tinge of my gleam, still and cold;
I am a bride in ornate lace
And you the veil that hides her face.
Like the tender soil of the earth,
Beloved, rooted deep am I,
And your grand destiny since birth–
The infinite range of the sky;
You are the grace of the feline
And I the faith of the canine.
O love! you are the Black pieces
Seizing a win against all odds,
Against my White heart's caprices–
The resoluteness of the gods;
I am the longing in your breath
And you the succour of my death.
© InscrutableAngel