Classic Poem

Who claims that death is one cold, endless sleep,
Has never felt love's gladness in his soul, —
Has never made a woman's heart his goal,
Nor from red lips a harvest tried to reap.
Why should we love if graves are made to keep
Body and spirit in their calm control,
While waves of pulseless slumber o'er us roll,
And centuries unheeded by us sweep!
Who solves the mystery held by one sweet kiss, —
Who reads the song that shines in brilliant eyes, —
Who gathers wisdom from warm, fragrant breath, —
He makes eternal love and beauty his, —
He garners all the glory of clear skies, —
He lives secure above the call of death.