Classic Poem

Thy many weary years were not too long
As preparation for the coming dower
Of love, — God's own unsearchable white flower
Which now thou hast; thou hast it in this song.
The weary waiting years of tedious wrong
Wrought in thee thine intenser passion-power,
And now I loving sing beside thy bower, —
Myself through equal suffering purged and strong.

And so we meet. Thou art ready now to bear
The burning love-god's passionate embrace: —
Love, long from thee withheld, is doubly fair;
Sweeter is love, and sweeter is thy face
To love for thy lone hill-top's icy air
And all thy patient running of life's race.