Classic Poem

Yes: I am weary indeed. But thou,—thou art not weary.
What hath thy soul to do with grey thoughts dim and dreary?
Thou art the morning's rose!
Long after I am dead, the flowers will gather round thee:
But still my glory is that mine the first hand crowned thee
With love no heart else knows.

This is my glory and gift; that I of all men brought thee
The deepest truest love, and with sweet singing sought thee
And gifts through long pain won.
This is my crown; to know that though love's sword was keener
Than grief's, I met its point with heart and glance serener
Than flowers that meet the sun.