Classic Poem

Nay , out of conflict must come peace; these twain
Can wage no war upon whose bitter scorn
There will not rise a reconciling morn,
Nor may by either either yet be slain.
Lo! in the circle of my hands shall gain
From each be brought the other's brow to adorn,
And soothe the pain which severance sharp has borne;
For I of both have need, of both am fain.
Lo! unto Love the light of Thought is given;
Lo! Thought's pale cheeks grow red with Love's own blood;
Lo! I who hold them friends in my bright sway;
Through me, through me, the bonds of earth are riven,
The ship securely sails Life's treacherous flood,
The sunrise burns of ever-widening day!