Classic Poem

For acts that rarely grace these grovelling days —
Acts of romance at which the cold may sneer,
My heart would thank thee — but it faileth here.
Why should I proffer gratitude or praise
To one who looks for neither? Why in lays,
Weak at the best, though earnestly sincere,
Affect to say how reverently dear
I hold thy name? In love that ne'er decays
That name is set! What language should he speak,
Whose soul o'erflows with feelings such as mine?
Let his intense emotion blanch his cheek,
In solitary silence let him pine,
Nor hope that eloquent mute spell to break —
Expression's self — which breathes a strain divine!