Classic Poem

Out of the sun soon let me pass
To those dim fields beneath the grass,
Where women have no power to bring
The poison of their lips, the sting
Of words and glances; all the vain
Splendour of eyes and hair; the pain
Of warm young passionate bodies; where
Even the spring's envenomed air
Is innocent, and may not move
To that sweet suffering which is love.

Under the ever-shadowy trees
Let me go down. Let the day cease.
Let me awake in that deep shade,
Where Helen walks, and unafraid
Men look on her, radiant and white,
And are not wounded; where the night
Is odorous with oblivion,
And rest and sure heart's ease are won.
. . . . . .

To those dim fields beneath the grass
Out of the sun soon let me pass.