Classic Poem

It is thy sorrow, lady, that at last
Shall amply and with certitude repay:
My cross shall draw thee towards me, — thou shalt say,
" I nailed him there, my folly nailed him fast
To this accursed wood one bitter day
Far-off but unforgotten in our past:
I drove the nails in, while he gazed aghast;
Then left him there to wear the years away. "

When thou dost see and say this gracious thing,
Self-sentenced, sad, repentant, — when thine eyes
Look large and lovely as the great drops rise
Therein, and round the downcast lashes cling,
Those tears shall be as pearls within my crown,
Adding soft lustre, — doubling my renown.