Classic Poem

Black rocks upon the ragged coast,
Mutter no more our hidden crime!
I hear, far off, your sullen boast,
But I defy you! 'tis not time!

You cannot tell our secret yet;
The trusty sea must keep its dead,
And many suns arise and set
Before that awful word is said.

For I am young; I've all the grace
Of life, and love, and beauty now:
There's not a wrinkle on my face;
There's not a shadow on my brow.

I cannot bear the loathsome grave,
I will not leave the cheerful sun!
Rave on! in storm and midnight rave,
For years and years, till all is done:

Till these brown locks are changed to gray;
Till these clear eyes are dim and old;
Not yet, not yet the fatal day
When all that horror must be told!

But, then—gnash all your jagged teeth,
And howl for vengeance! I will come;
And that same cruel pit beneath
Shall yawn and gulf me to my home.

To-day—forbear, nor mutter more!
The sky is dark, and dark the sea,
And all the land, from shore to shore,
Is hideous with your grisly glee.