Classic Poem

I would not have your beauties in exchange
For the sweet thoughts your beauty breeds in me.
(Suggested by Sappho, Fr. 17)

For shaken creeds are as the tottering poles,
The Earth reels madly to the maddened sense
And men, because they numbered falsely, hold
All number false.

Mercy haunts lazar-houses, sighs and weeps
O'er famished clowns, but opes its nostrils wide
To scent the blood of nobles.

The ocean-meadow where the dark flocks play
Of wandering clouds whose shepherd is the day.

Master in loving! till we met
I lacked the pattern thy sweet love hath set:
I hear Death's footstep—must we then forget?—
Stay, stay—not yet!