Classic Poem

I.

My love “thou knowest not now,—but thou shalt know hereafter”
Why I would give my life to give thy silver laughter
A yet more silvery tone.
Why I would die to call thee (—as I may not ever—)
Beyond all days that part and black-winged nights that sever
My own.

II.

Thou knowest not why I love; nor canst thou ever know it
On this side of the grave. I, a sad world-worn poet,
Stand by death's ocean-deep,
And lo! thy bright eyes gaze upon me and they blind me
And I who had to death inexorable resigned me
Can weep.

III.

Perchance in days to come,—far days of which we dream not.—
When all is dark around and passion's bright stars gleam not
Nor youth's stars upon thee
I may be able—then—to tell thee why the morning
At thine approach blushed red and smote without one warning
The sea.

IV.

I may be able—then—to tell thee why romances
Long dead and buried deep rose up at thy dark glances
Alive as ever of old:
And why the far fields flamed one living sheet of flowers
And why the buttercups lent glad thought's summer hours
Their gold!

V.

But now I may not speak, save only in mystic metre,—
And may not tell thee, love, why thou to me art sweeter
Than any words could tell.
Why is the grass-blade sweet that shines like some mute warder
Just on the parched-up grim intolerable border
Of hell?

VI.

I may not speak or act. Nay! hardly may I love thee.
I may not send a song to turn thy heart or move thee.
Yet this one thing I may;
Each morn and every night thank God that I have seen thee
And plead that Love's strong arms may fold around and screen thee
Each night and day.