Classic Poem

I SAW how that a painter, given o'er
To love's persuasion, heeded less and less
The voice that crying in the wilderness
Had made him strong and lonely and obscure;
Then as he wandered in the world once more,
Upon his canvas coloured a distress
Of dreams and fancy dirtied in the press,
And gray descended where was light before.
Wherefore my soul in suffering addressed
Her question, asking if these lovers e'er
Had laid the burden of themselves to rest.
I know that either, smothering despair,
Had turned away and shed a dreadful tear,—
And notwithstanding sought each other's breast.