Classic Poem

An hour of perfect happiness
Makes one forget the load of care
He has been bearing everywhere,
And he foresees no more distress.

Credulous still, though oft betrayed,
The day is glorified to him
An orbed epoch, round whose rim
Coronal beauty is displayed.

He smiles to think that he could hate,
And grieves to think what hate has done,
Regrets hot words, and hopes that none
Have been remembered. All elate —

The pain of pleasure in his throat —
Tiptoe he prophesies life shall
Henceforward be a madrigal
Of peace, with no discordant note.

His nobler sense vanguards his pride,
Which, flattered to a loving mood,
Would found a gentle brotherhood
Of men that fate could not deride.

Arcadian beauty to discuss
With faith sublime he goes, returning
With shame and indignation burning,
Torn by the beasts of Ephesus.