Classic Poem

They who sing the deeds of men,
From the earth upraise their fame,
Monuments in marble pen,
Keeping ever sweet their name,
Tell me Poets, do I hear,
What you sing, with pious ear?

They who sing the Maiden's Kiss,
And the silver Sage's thought,
Loveliness of inward bliss,
Or the graver learning taught,
Tell me are your skies and streams
Real, or the shape of Dreams?

Many rainy days must go,
Many clouds the sun obscure,
But your verses clearer show,
And your lovely thoughts more pure,
Mortals are we, but you are
Burning keenly like a star.