Classic Poem

SHE SPEAKS

Love comes to me, and knocks at my sad heart,
And bids me let him in that he may heal
The cruel wound that will not cease to smart
Which Love himself has made. I would not steel
Myself against his dear and pleading voice,
Ah! no, with ardor would I fain forgive;
But, though I long with passion to rejoice,
And once again the old sweet rapture live, —
In vain! for naught can break the iron bars
That hold my prisoned and enfettered soul.
And I, who once was kin unto the stars,
Who soared triumphant to Life's utmost goal,
Must dwell in wingless depths because I know
Had Love been true I could not suffer so!