Classic Poem

What brood is hidden in the womb of time?
What days begotten of the days that be?
What shore untravelled looms beyond the sea?
I need no prophet's word nor poet's rhyme,
To tell the fate of Youth's triumphant prime,
The bourne to which we impotently move,
To cast the dismal horoscope of love
And all his splendid store of hopes sublime.

But let me love thee so that dusty age
May tell this tale of half-forgotten youth;
Love long and well I served, and earned his wage
In faithfulness, in honour, and in truth:
And so Love gave, what he alone can give,
A joy to live for, and a life to live.