Classic Poem

If I should die, and some strong Voice should say,
Unto my soul lost in the vast black deep,
" Where wouldst thou take, O Soul, thy future way,
Wouldst still live on in pain, or fall asleep? "
It seems that I would answer: Let me creep
Into the roots of some rose she loves well;
Grow upward with the sap of June and steep
The petals with this love I cannot tell;
Breathe out these dreams in perfume that could speak
My longings for her, for which words are weak!
Thus grow one swift, soft summer day, then feel
The pang of plucking through my fibres reel!
I should not then go wailing after light;
I should not feel the terror of the night;
I should not weary of the endless rush
Of mad blind cycles through the awful hush.