Classic Poem

I will not call you beautiful again,
Though my throat ache with the silence of refraining,
And not a sigh will I explain,
Though my hands fill with explaining ...

For you are as beautiful as a hill I know
In spring, breathing with light —
But as soon as I told you, a chill like snow
Covered and turned you white.

I will not call you beautiful again,
Your labyrinthine loveliness I will not name.
I will be silent as forgotten men
Dead beyond blame.

No matter how your airs of spring beguile,
Be it my fortitude, my business, my endeavor,
Not to acclaim the laurel of your smile —
Except to-day, to-morrow and forever!