Classic Poem

When these are past that have no name,—
Vain
Baffled hurts, vain-suffered shame
And niggard pain,—
Past; then in time,
Nought else procuring,
They may lend to a rhyme
A fall half-heard like fallen wind in trees
Or the unrest of seas;
Yet unenduring,
And unfit to please,
A sound without a story, meaningless. For still
Some vision shall be lacking, surely seen
Had these not been.
What can the lame and imageless tongue
Depict or shadow forth, in song
Shaped from the past of things too blind to name
And therefore fashioned ill
And full of blame?