Classic Poem

My heart built up a palace, and approved
The gorgeous work in all its parts to be
Stablished in beauty, love's true mansionry;
And thou didst dwell therein so truly loved
As none have been, nor shall beloved again,
And yet perceived not how all structures vain
Of human artifice it did excel:
Thy heart built not, nor yet of mine might know
The work how real, would'st thou deem it so:
But thou didst doubt its glory, and it fell—
Fell, never to be built again by me;
For Love is dead, and Hope no longer lives:
Only amongst the ruins still survives
The image sad and pale of one like thee.