Classic Poem

Ah! was it worth while? — Yes, I have renown.
Through the white folds of this embracing shroud
I hear them crying my old name aloud
On earth: they bring my silent corpse a crown.
But ah, the fruitless gift! Could I bend down
Just once again, though even in humble bower,
And gather once again love's humblest flower —
Could I gaze deep into soft eyes of brown —
Could I feel once again the gracious hand
Of woman, — waiting as the sweet night grows
One with the passionate heart of every rose
In every garden of the moonlit land, —
'Twould be worth more than mightiest labours reap,
Crowned or uncrowned, that end in unkissed sleep.