Classic Poem

When locked in marble Death's embrace,
When hushed and tideless sleeps my face,
And vanquished every living grace,
You'll love me then—
Ah, only then!

The shrouded limbs, the sobbing bell,
The wreath of yew and asphodel,
Will wring the tears you cannot quell—
Unhappy fate!
Too late—too late.

Too late, oh lost and worshiped one!
Too late, when life is darkly done!
Too late—too late beneath the sun—
And shall it be
Eternity?

Do souls wild-wand'ring on the shore—
The spectral land of “Nevermore”—
Come back to those they loved of yore,
Although in vain—
Although in pain?

Will any wave that swims the sea,
Will any cloud that climbs the lee,
Bring me to you, or you to me—
Me to you
Or you to me?

Though I should stalk the globe amain,
In the rude throbbings of the rain,
I'd roam through Paradise again,
In frenzied quest
Of rest—of rest!

And if you saw how blasted years
Had hewn my cheek for caverned tears,
Would you repel me from the spheres,
Or clasp me fast,
At last—at last?