Classic Poem

Flushes of dawn that wither into gray;
Hints of sunrise that fade to moonrise pale;
Beginnings of bright song that die away;
Blight of half-opened blossoms, slim and frail.

Looks of wild longing, sad, impassioned, dumb;
Strength of endeavor foiled by callous Fate;
Sore shrinking from the empty years to come;
Then the dark vigil, grim and desolate.

“Ah! for one draught of Joy's delicious cup,
One dance with Pleasure wreathed with flower and vine;
Ah! for a feast where Love and I might sup,
And pledge each other in Youth's golden wine.”

Inner revolting full of fiery pain;
Dull stretch of duty done in bitter stress;
The footsore journey o'er the weary plain;
And the long fasting in the wilderness.

Then the strong drink of victory over self;
The deep'ning glow of Faith's rekindled fire;
The crisis past: the slow return to health;
The birth of Hope; the death of starved Desire.

And, at the last, to lie as on a breast,
Rocking to slumber, till the sighing cease;
Then the still voice of Death shall murmur “Rest”;
But Some One just beyond shall answer, “Peace.”