Those Beatific Meadows Poem by Daniel Thomason

If I should think of love,
What figure would appear before my eyes?
Of all my loves this is the first and last,
A shimmering angel who must, shall, hast,
Put forth my heart to have my heart,
From off a hill to a drippling meadow,
I'll see my love whisk the water with their charming hands,
Not to look back at me but remain peaceful in their own place,
And now I think of love through not the eyes of a man,
But through the heart that beats only,
Only for my angel.