Classic Poem

A blind man's agony who sees no more
The gorgeous plumage of the summer day,
Nor the young blue waves splashing with light spray
The golden sand on the receding shore,
Nor butterflies who steer with feathered oar
Through flower on flower, or thread their dainty way
Through branch on green branch,—nor the moonlit bay,
Nor ardent wings wherewith the sun's steeds soar:—

The agony that grasps with one vast pang
That all these things prevail outside his brain,
Yet that their light will enter not again
Now once the gates of iron darkness clang,
Is like my pain O sun, O love, O sea,
Dreading lest I may look no more on thee.