Classic Poem

When this, our rose, is faded,
— And these, our days, are done,
In lands profoundly shaded
— From tempest and from sun:
Ah, once more come together,
— Shall we forgive the past,
And safe from worldly weather
— Possess our souls at last?

Or in our place of shadows
— Shall still we stretch an hand
To green, remembered meadows,
— Of that old pleasant land?
And vainly there foregathered,
— Shall we regret the sun?
The rose of love, ungathered?
— The bay, we have not won?

Ah, child! the world's dark marges
— May lead to Nevermore,
The stately funeral barges
— Sail for an unknown shore,
And love we vow to-morrow,
— And pride we serve to-day:
What if they both should borrow
— Sad hues of yesterday?

Our pride! Ah, should we miss it,
— Or will it serve at last?
Our anger, if we kiss it,
— Is like a sorrow past.
While roses deck the garden,
— While yet the sun is high,
Doff sorry pride for pardon,
— Or ever love go by.