Classic Poem

Yes, a disbelieving Thomas
You may call me; sure am I
That Jerusalem's and Roma's
Promised heaven is a lie.

On the other hand, that real
Are the angels has been proved.
Beings faultless and ideal
Here below in light have moved.

As regards their wings, however,
Gentle lady, I demur;
Though I've seen such angels, never
Have I known the wings occur.

With their dainty hands how kindly,
And how sweetly with their glance,
They uphold us stumbling blindly,
And protect us from mischance!

Ah, their favour, when they show it,
Comforts all, but most, I know,
Him whose portion, as a poet,
Is a double load of woe!