Classic Poem

See! This is how she standeth, —
A woman, calm and ageless,
Clad only in a garment
Of pure and spotless flesh;
While round her shrine forever
Circle the eager faces
Of those who serve her gladly,
Whose souls she hath in mesh.

Of gold in grain or nugget,
Of fruits and dewy blossoms,
Of lambs upon her altars
She hath no joy or heed.
She only asketh heart-blood
Wrung out in toil and anguish:
Its drops of shining crimson
Are sweet to her indeed.

Yet see the upturned faces!
Their lips are dry with fasting,
Their cheeks are gray and sunken, —
Yet, ah, the rapturous eyes!
They ask no joy but toiling,
They ask no hope but serving,
And with their life-blood furnish
Her pleasing sacrifice.

No golden world-fruit tempts them;
Love bares her rosy bosom,
And smiles between her tresses
Vainly on such as these.
The youths who take her service
Pledge to a jealous goddess,
Who will have naught but labor,
And labor on their knees.

She giveth this for guerdon:
Age that descends in youth-time,
Lit by one star's faint shining
That struggles through the gloom.
A name in ink that fadeth
Writ on Fame's musty pages,
Mouthed by the fools and happy,
And scrawled upon a tomb.