Classic Poem

Full well my loyal heart remembers
The vow of rapture's lavish tongue,
For thee to smother grief's Decembers
In joy's June roses, and make over
The world; — how easily, fond lover,
Could I when life and hope were young.

When troth-plight had begemmed thy finger
Unhappiness should cease to be;
No shape of care near thee should linger;
Exultant, I, thy love to guerdon,
Would weep thy tears and bear thy burden,
Yea, purchase thy Gethsemane.

For thee should hemlock turn to honey,
Thy hand, unhurt, the thorn might hold,
Darkness should light thee, and the sunny
Celestial days, triumphal, singing
Around the globe, should bless thee, bringing
Anew to earth the Age of Gold.

Thy beauty and thy grace to glory,
Would I inweave thy golden name
In shining weft of song and story;
Would I, on love's heroic mission,
Ascend the sunned peak of ambition
To pluck the Alpine flower, fame.

O season of delirious passion!
What knew or recked my spirit then
Of deeds in less transcendent fashion
Than youth's high drama realizes
In visions, dreams, and enterprises
That lift to godhood mortal men!

Naught is impossible to Heaven,
Nor to the puissance of youth!
Imagination's quickening leaven
Works in the pulsing brain and being
Till every sense hath second-seeing
And all that should be true is truth.

O glorious falsehood and illusion!
Call not the lover's transports lies:
The white light of his heart in fusion
Makes visible the far ideal,
Only the low earth is unreal,
Secure the lover walks the skies.

I trod with thee the starry spaces,
I told the only tale I knew;
We dwelt in spirit, not in places,
And, if the promises then spoken, —
Be witness, O my God! — were broken,
The promising was heavenly true.