Classic Poem

For those who once have marvelled at her splendour
And known it no alternative remains, —
For ever doomed to suffer endless pains,
Or else in emptiness their souls surrender
That Beauty in a vision may engender
The new-born power of singing endless strains.
A wave of mounting melody most tender
From sweet rose-scented subtle mouth she rains
Upon them: they must echo it, or never
Win rest, or cushioned couch, or conscious ease;
Their souls from Beauty they will not dissever;
The stern-eyed Goddess they cannot appease
Save by a manful choice to sing for ever
All that, and nothing save what, she shall please.