Classic Poem

They had waited and waited and waited,—
But the struggle was sad and long
He was only a writer of poems,
And what is the worth of a song?
She was poor, she was true, she was noble:
She loved him with all her heart.
They waited and waited and waited,
And they watched the days depart.

The sweet springs came with their glory
Of primrose and crocus trim;
The summers glittered and vanished,—
And still she waited for him.
For the fortune they once had dreamed of
Was still in the dreamer's land
Through summer and winter they waited,
And they toiled on hand in hand.


They have waited and waited and waited;
Far-off is their life's young spring:
But their love is as tender as ever
And has grown to a heavenly thing.
I think that the angels love them:
One night through the starlit air
They will pass to the heaven above them
And the angels will marry them there.