Classic Poem

Though the day be dreary,
Even comes apace,
The ending of the race,
The sight of sweet love's face
So restful to the weary.

Though the day be burning,
Yet shall night succeed,
And darkness soft give heed
To us in utter need,
Responsive to our yearning.

When the day is over,
Comes the scent of sand
Touched by the wet sea's hand
To heal the burnt-up land,
And waft of cliff-top clover.

And brightness of thy face
O love, O woman tender,
Thy soul's clear endless splendour,
And all thy love can render
Of soft redeeming grace.