Classic Poem

—Y OU who with birch or laurel
Are swift to scourge or bless—
Silence your foolish quarrel
Before her loveliness.

—What though she went a-travel
Down paths you do not know?
Your words shall not unravel
Webs that allured her so.

—Hush now your foolish babble
Around her golden head.
Shut out the prying rabble.
Be happy. She is dead.

—Now give one final kindness
That late you dreamed not of—
Silence, to cloak your blindness—
Peace, since you know not love.