Classic Poem

Dear Love, bear with me that so long
My harp has lain unstrung, unswept,
Since to have waked it while it slept
Had been to do my nature wrong.

How could I pour in measured chime
My brimming love's intensity?
Or level one dear thought of thee
To the low stature of a rhyme?

Enough that in my heart's deep well
Lies love by language yet unstirred,
Unfathomed yet by any word,
Beyond what lip of mine can tell.

Then bear with me, nor chiding say,
" Why thus? " but rather, " Be it so;
Let words, the froth of feeling, go;
Her love lies deeper far than they. "