Classic Poem

Say , Sweet, that stars were fallen from their places,
That one vast silence filled creation's pale,
And sombre gloom lay heavy on our faces,
Would love our spirits fail?

Would we sit desolate, and cold, and lonely,
And not out-reach to grasp each others' hands?
But clinging to ourselves and sorrow only,
Moan in the stricken lands,

And losing all the subtle warmth that blesses
When lips are harvesting Love's ripened grain,
Sink shuddering in the chill, the grim caresses
Of restless, burning pain?

And were we, Sweet, in rounded grave mounds lying,
With roots of willows winding through our forms,
Hid from the sad wind's wild and weary sighing,
The rush of biting storms.

Would no words pass between us in those regions,
Through narrow ways, by nature's forces made?
Would not our passion-throbs, in countless legions,
Sound through the heavy shade,

Till, palpitant with heat, the sods that cumber
Our listless limbs would break from them away,
And our two souls, free from the pulseless slumber,
Meet in the joyous day?

Say, Sweet, that we were separate by distance,
You, born into an everlasting light,
I, compassed by strong bonds, whose fierce resistance
Held me in hideous night,

Would you forget to sound the shining reaches
Lying between us, with a song, whose tone
Would echo clear along the barren beaches,
The forests, tempest blown,

Till I should hear it through the darkness sweeping,
And strong with gladness break my galling chains,
And up the trackless air go swiftly leaping
Toward your sunlit plains?

Ah, Sweet, there are no sea-caves dim and hollow,
No purple altitudes of star-bright space,
Where, if you went, I would not quickly follow,
To find your woman's grace.

And were I swept through swift and bitter stages,
Across wide masses of waste land and sea,
Still would your love, through multitudes of ages
Roam tireless, seeking me.