Classic Poem

One sat within a hung and lighted room —
A little shape, with face between his wings,
And in the light made of all golden things
He seemed a warm and living rose abloom;
And one without sobbed in the night and gloom,
And all about him was a pilgrim's weed,
His little hands and cold he held for meed
Of his long waiting, sad as by a tomb:
He entered at the door, the other flew
Out at the casement — and with sudden day
The lamps burned faint, and he who came most new
Was fair, and he who went was wan and gray.
" For I am Love who came, " and " Be content, "
Sang this one, " It was Poverty who went! "