Classic Poem

THE POET

Thou canst not understand this heart of mine:
Thou art so fair.
Can the white daisy apprehend the pine
Whose branches wear
Crowns of the stormy stars that through them shine
And stormy air?

Thou canst not understand how I love thee!
How canst thou know
The storm and travail of the ceaseless sea
And all its woe?
Long centuries must it take thine heart to me
Quite close to grow.

If thou couldst understand my whole soul now.
It would be pain.
I would not add one wrinkle to thy brow;
Ever remain
Upon my life's tree the one blossoming bough:—
That is love's gain.

THE LADY

I am content, if I can bring the pine
Some gleams of blue!
Part the deep dark-tressed boughs, and softly shine
The thick leaves through.

If I can only apprehend your Art,
Know what you are,
And in some dark sad corner of your heart
Create a star.

If I can only bring you some delight,
Some bliss to win;
Pierce with glad rays your spirit's stormy night
And enter in.

For God made woman's eyes to comfort those
Whose souls despair.
For this God made her sweet mouth like a rose.
And set love there:

That whoso seeth her should know that rest
Is yet in store
For even the weariest soul within her breast
For evermore.