Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE RECOLLECTS HER IN HER TEARS

That always-honoured ever-bitter day
Hath so engraved her image in my breast,
That there it burns, there only is possessed
Of flame nor wit nor word can quite convey:
Such fluent grief I saw her face portray,
Such mournful soft despairs my ears confessed,
I dared not think a mortal tongue expressed
What must have gladdened God with its dismay.
Gold glowed her hair, her face glowed sun on snow,
Eyebrow and lash gleamed black, her eyes blazed stars
Whence the young bowman plied his deadly bow;
Her teeth, her lips — but rose-pearled metaphors
Fail at those gates from which her sadness came —
Crystal her tears, her sighs a breath of flame!