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To thee there is no reason just a mood

To thee there is no reason just a mood
That dwells in you, and dwells in me
Causing the muse to sullenly brood
How this love was born or came to be
An infinite of mist, and nothing clear
Each cloud a thought of mysticism
For romance to lay, and song to play
To each soul of keen criticism
Thou art miracles and art beyond realistic
Perfect ideals in one's mood manifested
An aesthetic feeling, in poems artistic
In beauties potion, by love wrested
Thou art mystery to thee and to me
Thou art the secret of mankind's poetry

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