Classic Poem

Yet other thanks I owe
To him the guardian Power who guides our way
That every sense was clear when closed the day;
Clear almost as beneath the morning's glow

The eyes that in the far-off days looked down,
Ever with love, on flower and flower,
Growing in love, ne'er failed in power?
Death, having force to slay, could not discrown.

Still were the stars discerned
As clearly as when in years long dead,
Mother, upon thy bridal night they burned:
No tiniest star could veil its golden head.

And still was music sweet.
Thine ears that ever heard Love's pæan sung
Lost still few notes, however soft or fleet,
Of notes that charmed in days when thou wast young.