Classic Poem

And they shall say to thee, “He died distraught;
His mind was crazed by dreaming on things past,
And so he grew in madness till the last
Sheer height of scorn he tottered from to naught.
His hands were weak and idle and ne'er caught
With strength of purpose at the busy world;
Forlorn and proud he stood—Time onward whirled
And left the ruins of the things he sought.”
But thou shalt understand what they despise,
Cherish what they reject, and count the few
Poor virtues dearer than the things they prize.
And weighing all the evil they have said,
Thy heart shall say, “What, then, if this be true?
Be Silent! for he loved me and is dead.”