Classic Poem

If, after death, my singing may be heard
Within the land of Shelley and of Keats —
The land that shook at vast-souled Milton's word,
The land that every morn its Shakespeare greets
Smiling and proud — if this my land repeats
My lady's name, my song, when I am dead
Crowned am I then for ever — yea, the red
Sunset of death as life eternal falls
Beaming around me, summons in its walls
My spirit glad beyond all mortal measure
Then at the great sweet death-voice as it calls;
Yea, if one song my land shall love and treasure,
Then am I deathless in the high domain
Whereover the dead deathless singers reign.