Classic Poem

I WAS in love with life and then I died —
Because I lost the thing that I loved best.
In my embittered soul with arid zest
Sad disillusion, with fierce hate allied,
Battled with murdered love and wounded pride;
And harsh resentment, harbored in my breast,
Festered the wound in my dead soul, till Rest
Even the Rest of Death could not abide.
My holier self in grief unholy lost
Struggled to win my soul from sullen shame
And lift my eyes through sacrificial tears,
But though I proudly paid the crucial cost
I wept for Love's dear sake and Love's fair fame
And died again before lost Love's arrears.