Classic Poem

I sometimes feel as if the dream divine
Of what fair Woman on this earth might be,
A dream that ever with sweet touch gladdened me
In the old days when youth and hope were mine,
A dream that met me in the soft starshine
Of even, or morn's sunlight o'er the sea, —
I sometimes feel that, if this dream must flee,
Distorted, baffled, is strong Love's design.

If England fails the dream to realize, —
If some pure Angel stooping from bright air
Met no response within dull human eyes, —
If back we have driven towards golden sunset-skies
Her who had made for man the whole world fair,
Death waits in front: behind us Paradise.