Classic Poem

I am glad that my lady can weep when she will,
And thus bring the swords of the gallants to play.
Who hath broken her heart? It is adamant still;—
She will trifle their own hearts away!
Her glance can entrance, as their keen swords can kill:
I am glad that my lady can weep when she will!

I am glad that my lady can weep: She hath made
Dim eyes where the sunshine dwelt tender and bright.
I marvel, sometimes, that she is not afraid
Of the ghosts of the night!
Their pitiful faces my own heart would thrill:
I am glad that my lady can weep when she will!

She can weep—she can sigh—but the day comes apace
When the ghosts will not down! When in silence apart
She will feel the real tears on her pallid, drawn face,
And the pang at the heart!
Then the pale ghosts will triumph—and keen swords will kill:—
I am glad that my lady can weep when she will!