Classic Poem

All ye that pass along Love's trodden way,
Pause ye awhile and say
If there be any grief like unto mine:
I pray you that you hearken a short space
Patiently, if my case
Be not a piteous marvel and a sign.
Love (never, certes, for my worthless part,
But of his own great heart),
Vouchsafed to me a life so calm and sweet
That oft I heard folk question as I went
What such great gladness meant:--
They spoke of it behind me in the street.

But now that fearless bearing is all gone
Which with Love's hoarded wealth was given me
Till I am grown to be
So poor that I have dread to think thereon.

And thus it is that I, being like as one
Who is ashamed and hides his poverty,
Without seem full of glee,
And let my heart within travail and moan.