Classic Poem

Though I should deck you with my jewelled rhyme,
And spread my songs a carpet at your feet,
Where men may see unchanged through changing time
Your face a pattern in sad songs and sweet;
Though I should blow your honour through the earth
Or touch your gentleness on gentle strings,
Or sing abroad your beauty and your worth—
Dearest, yet these were all imperfect things.

Rather in lovely silence will I keep
The heart's shut song no words of mine may mar,
No words of mine enrich. The ways of sleep
And prayer and pain, all things that lonely are,
All humble things that worship and rejoice
Shall weave a spell of silence for my voice.