Classic Poem

HER DEATH WOULD LEAVE NATURE ITSELF IN DARKNESS

Wheresoever, among what maids she move,
Lovely or feather-light, she moves alone,
Subduing every lustre to her own,
As the day-star annuls night's twinkling drove.
With tongue of prophecy still whispers Love:
" While to our mortal sight that brow is shown,
Life shall be rich; but when the rose is blown,
I shall be dust of dreams men weary of.
Should Nature pluck the moon and sun away,
Silence the wind, each herb and flower uproot,
Rob man of reason, speech and sparkle, flay
The fishes, stamp the sea-folk underfoot —
Ah, darker were the world, more grim, more gray
Were earth of Laura's flame left destitute! "