Classic Poem

HER RETURN BANISHES SORROW

I wept, but sing now; its celestial shower
That living sun does not from me conceal,
But pure love in that blazon must reveal
His holy purposes and his sweet power,
Ah Love, such floods of grief leap to devour
The space that spreads beneath my friendless heel,
That neither bridge nor ford, nor oar, nor sail
Can push escape, nor pinions speed the hour!
O in such black abysms do I grope,
So distant seems the prospect of a shore
Thought may not span it, nor the laurelled hope
Nor palm's reward prompt pity: I implore
But olive peace: the clouds lift from the slope,
The sun curbs grief — and bids me suffer more!