Classic Poem

I could not be withheld from you by iron bands,
All cerements would be riven,
That we should claim our heaven,
But I am here in bondage, to these little, little hands!

If I unclasp the tender fingers and walk free,
Our love shall have no gain
From that poor hopeless pain,
For I shall lose my soul because of infamy.

O! Shall I walk your sunny gardens a cold ghost,
And will you cover me with flowers,
That I may spend sequestered hours,
Weeping the lovelier Blossoms I have lost!

I could not be withheld from you by iron bands,
All cerements would be riven,
That we should claim our heaven,
But I am here in bondage, to these little, little hands!