Classic Poem

WHEREIN HIS HOPE IS AS QUENCHLESS AS HER CRUELTY

Love has abandoned me to cold embraces
Which kill me without cause: if I complain,
My martyrdom is doubled and my pain.
(In silence love, though death that love effaces!)
Her furious look can melt the frozen spaces
Of winter's Rhine and split the stone in twain;
Her loveliness is matched by her disdain
And others happy rouse her fierce grimaces.
As for the rest, a thing of marble, breathing
And moving, heart of triple adamant
So hard, my utmost skill is all too scant.
But darkening forehead and a breast high-seething
Cannot avail, cannot the soul disperse
From those desires that build its universe.