Classic Poem

WHEREIN HER DEATH HAS LEFT HIM ONLY THE PHILOSOPHY OF DESPAIR

She stepped into my heart so vividly,
A thing of light and warmth! — as, all unknown,
A princess, having wandered from her throne,
Might crowd a peasant's hut with courtesy.
And she is dead! — and dead my soul in me;
She storms the stars! — and I could turn a stone
To blood and tears of blood: but there is none
To tell love's pain and my soul's poverty.
These plead too deep for any ears save mine,
Who sing, with equal emptiness oppressed,
As moans the bird about a barren nest.
Ah, we are shadows crying for a sign!
Ah, sick and sightless stares the human will!
Ah, hope is a mirage that cheats us still!