Classic Poem

The grief of love is that, in giving all,
It can not infinitely more impart
Than the full world of one poor human heart;
For, in exchange for woman's faith, how small
Man's best return; therefore we would forestall,
As eager merchants do, the future mart,
We poet-lovers, with our passionate art,
To pay one tithe our promise prodigal.
If earth afford not time enough, may be,
Sweet Creditor, that when this mortal bond
Dissolved shall set our winging spirits free,
Eternity and some access divine
Of faculty may bless thy soul and mine
With griefless joy this yearning life beyond.