Classic Poem

WHEREIN HIS LADY RETURNS IN PITY TO CONSOLE AND COUNSEL HIM

Ah, could I phrase her sighings of sweet fire
Audible to my soul in whispers flaming
From hers who, though in spheres beyond our claiming,
Still lives, feels, moves, loves, breathes — ah, what desire
Would my words rouse! ... How keenly you inquire,
With what pure jealous love — but with no blaming —
All weakness, all retreat, all terror shaming
Back to the steep road that points always higher!
And I, who understand your chaste compassion,
Your true prayers couched in piteous murmurings,
According to your will my own will fashion
And curb my wishes and control my wings,
Finding such sweetness in your words as would
Turn even the hardest stone to tears of blood.