Classic Poem

Because the cithole hath a thousand tones
Inwrought with many subtile harmonies
Of lute and flute wherein sweet music dies,
Yea, all the bitter-sweet that love disowns,
Mournful are they and full of heavy moans
And tears and interpenetrative sighs,
Soul-stirred with ultimate immensities,
And incommunicable antiphones!

So is the soul fulfilled of saddest things,
Of multitudinous sighs more sad than they
Whereof Earth hears no sound, yet nothing may
Drown the deep murmur of its echoings:
Even so of soul and soul the poet sings
And what on earth he means can no man say.