Classic Poem

When I am dead, mourn thus for me and say:
There lived a man, and see, he is no more;
Timeless to death he went,
And in the middle day
His song of life was rent;
Ah! pity, for he had yet one song more,
And now that song is lost, and lost for aye.
Ah! pity, for he had a harp—a soul
To live and speak; and as the singer spanned
The secrets of his heart therewith, the strings
Spoke 'neath his hand.
But of his secrets one was hid in heart,
His fingers skimmed about it and around,
One string was left for dumb, and till this day
It gives no sound.

It is great pity, all her days this string,
Panting in silence, trembles for her song;
And for her love to rescue she may yearn,
Desire and long,

As the heart throbs for the invited guest,
And if he tarry she waits endless days,
To weep with hidden sighs that he comes not,
But still delays.

Now is there vexation to dismay,
There lived a man, and see, he is no more,
For in the middle day
His song of life was rent,
Yet he had one song, one ballad more,
And now that song is lost, and lost for aye.