Classic Poem

If I can love without possessing, mine
Becomes the true possession; for love brings,
Into this self, all that is most divine
In the beloved things.

That river with its wealth of ships; these streets
Of endless property and shifting scene;
And yon fair landscape, with its princely seats,
And fields of gold and green: —

Of these, no spar, no stone, no clod I own;
But there's the glamour round them, without which
They nothing were but clod, and spar, and stone, —
And that I freely reach.

The dearest having of a prosperous man
Might be his neighbour's, yet he not resign:
For this our equal birthright — Take who can;
All earth love — and 'tis thine.