Classic Poem

The joy of my art
And the love of my heart
And the lost, lost garden of young delight,
I came to these
Through the shadow-trees
By the gate of dreams in the night.

The daytime was cold,
And the world had grown old,
And bitter and lonely the light of the sun,
And life was chill
With the dread of ill
And sorrow of works undone.

Came night, with its tears
For the severing years,
And its gift reluctant of weary sleep;
And then — your hand
In that clearer land,
And your word for my heart to keep!