Classic Poem

And I shall walk for love of it
When I'm a ghost that's free of breath,
Not to appease a whimpering
Poor grudge at Death;

But just to see this shining sphere
Where all my years are pinpoint-tied —
A fly upon a peach could crawl
To the other side!

The minarets of cloud can wait
For one star-twinkle; wait until
I shall have gazed on Mother Rome
From every hill,

And kissed a hand to Greece, and crossed
A palm-tree's shadow in Algiers —
And knelt on stones where my great Dead
Have spilled their tears.