Classic Poem

I see for thee, where thou canst never see.
I fight for thee, where thou canst never fight.
I bear for thee a radiant torch of light
From Art's pure temple, burning high and free.
Blossoms I gather too from hill and lea,
Some sad, all tender, some divinely bright:
I clothe thee with a portion of love's might;
Lo! in my arms, when tired I carry thee.

And all I ask is that thou wilt be glad
And pure and sweet and true-souled; as thou art:
True to the intuition of thine heart,
And happy — 'tis enough that one be sad!
Be thyself simply; and, love, lady, friend,
Trust me, — oh, trust me to the very end!