Mystery Poem by Clark Ashton Smith

To me, who have but known
The senses' doubtful lore,
Thy soul is evermore
Mysterious as mine own.

With ears I strive to hear
A song that is not sound,
With eyes, to pierce the bound
Of things unseen and dear.

But in delectable
Dark ways, and wordless speech,
Our hearts throb each to each
The tale we cannot tell.

The flesh unto the flesh
Utters deliciously
Desire and ecstasy
Through all its subtle mesh.

In a swift glance, or in
The close and eyeless night,
As light that meets with light,
My soul has seemed to win

Communion clear with thine,
Has found the oblivion deep
Which is not death nor sleep
But ampler life divine.