Classic Poem

When in our hands we hold life's bitter wage,
Into that other world have gone at last,
How will it be, love? Wilt thou backward cast
A longing look at all life's heat and rage? —
Nay, for thy wondering eyes shall read a page
They never saw before. Dear love, the past
Holds nothing like it. Thou shalt see, aghast,
Lines on my soul, undreamed of thee, how sage
Soe'er thou still hast been — But read, ah, read,
There too the torment and the bitter strife,
As I strove up, learned secret tears to bleed
And thorns to bear, with endless longing rife
To reach thy stature. Surely this must plead.
Thou wilt not turn from me in that new life?