Classic Poem

This is the poet's doom: to love all joys,
To mark them fading, and to mourn them dead.
To see the rose at day-break blushing red:
At night to watch the wind with wanton noise
Scattering the petals from their perfect poise, —
Strewing with pale pink gems the brown cold bed;
To marvel at some woman's curve of head,
Till death both body and carven brow destroys.

This is the poet's doom — far more than others
To feel the life, and so the death far more:
To sing for the sweet sake of tuneless brothers
The beauty of each shell upon the shore:
To see too deep; to love a rose too much, —
And so to mark it fading at his touch!