Classic Poem

When all my words were said,
When all my songs were sung,
I thought to pass among
The unforgotten dead,

A Queen of ruth to reign
With her, who gathereth tears
From all the lands and years,
The Lesbian maid of pain;

That lovers, when they wove,
The double myrtle-wreath,
Should sigh with mingled breath
Beneath the wings of Love:

" How piteous were her wrongs,
Her words were falling dew,
All pleasant verse she knew,
But not the Song of songs."

Yet now, O Love, that you
Have kissed my forehead, I
Have sung indeed, can die,
And be forgotten too.