Classic Poem

WHEREIN PRAISING HER IS HIS DUTY AND ENTIRE RECOMPENSE

Erewhile I toiled, and with so just a reason,
And in such fervid verses to win hearing,
I seemed at length to feel a slight spark stirring
Through that heart's frost, though danced the summer breeze on
The world ... That cloud, whose web cloaked it like treason,
Broke at my first warm breath, or else incurring
The blame of others, to that blame demurring,
Her burning eyes withdrew for a brief season.
I ask no pity for myself, nor hate
For her, since neither is within my power:
Such was my deadly star, my dismal fate.
But always I shall sing her, every hour,
So that when I have passed the ghostly gate,
The world may know I wore death like a flower.