Classic Poem

I used to love fair Art with golden wings;
I loved her like a bride;
I met her by blue streams and forest springs;
I wandered at her side.

The sunsets held her, and the morning's gold
Circled her peerless hair:
Deep fern and heather draped the summer wold,
And buoyant Art was there.

And in sweet music Art's sweet spirit spoke;
And over the wild sea
Her face like sudden lustrous morning broke
Triumphant upon me.

So all my youth was passed. I worshipped her,
Fair Art, with love supreme,
And brought her all my hopes, and I laid bare
Before her every dream.

Art was my goddess, tall and ample-eyed,—
The queen my spirit sought.
I rested at her feet, and would have died
To please the queen in aught.

But now Art's form doth change into the form
That I love better still.
Art's marble hand is cold, but thine is warm:
Art's stern touch cannot thrill.

Thy young touch thrills me, and thy deep brown eyes
Make me forget to sing
Aught else. So sacred depths of summer skies
Drown out the dreams of spring.

I have loved Art with love beyond all speech
And laboured in her fane,
And sought her secret inmost heart to reach,—
Her deepest soul to gain.

But now I bring my deepest love of Art
And give that love to thee.
Lo! she and I are strangers and must part:
New sails are on the sea.

There are fair crowns of labour and of birth;
Let this my one crown be—
I loved Art best of all things upon earth,
Yet loved Art less than thee!