Classic Poem

Yea, towards God's snow-capped mountains do I raise
Mine eyes and towards God's temples lift my voice:
The endless beauty of my love I praise,
That she too in my singing may rejoice,
Finding immortal pleasure in my lays.
Oh, beautiful her face beneath the bays
Smiles, when I lift the circlet from mine head;
Forgetting for a season all the ways
Of song — the paths of suffering fiery-red
Through which my thorn-pierced footsteps have been led,
And all the lonely nights and grievous days —
When I forgetting these gaze up instead
And watch the amorous tender leaves grow green
Touching the unfurrowed forehead of my queen.