Classic Poem

Ah, the anguish and the shame,
And the bitter throbs of blame,
And the grief that could but weep,
All are lulled by loving sleep.
Like a summer storm it passed,
Dew and starlight followed fast —
And she lifts her lids at last,
With a tender, growing gaze,
Half of softness, half amaze —
With a rapture, low and faint,
Like some long-tormented saint
Opening recovered eyes
On a Morn of Paradise.