Classic Poem

Raise me; undraw the curtain; that is well.
Put up the casement; I would see once more
The golden sun-set flooding sea and shore;
And hearken to the solemn evening-bell
That ringeth out my spirit like a knell.
The tree of love a bitter fruitage bore,
Sweet at the rind but rotten at the core,
Pointing to heaven and bringing down to hell.
I will not name His name, lest the young life
That dieth at my heart should live again;
Strengthening me to renew the weary strife
That ceaseth, — is this death? It is not pain.
Write on my grave: Here lieth a lone wife
Whose faith was hidden and whose love was vain.