Classic Poem

A sorrow, wet with early tears
Yet bitter, had been long with me.
I wearied of this weight of years,
And would be free.

I tore my Sorrow from my heart,
I cast it far away in scorn;
Right joyful that we two could part,
Yet most forlorn.

I sought (to take my Sorrow's place)
Over the world for flower or gem;
But she had had an ancient grace
Unknown to them.

I took once more with strange delight
My slighted Sorrow; proudly now
I wear it, set with stars of light,
Upon my brow.