Classic Poem

If the last blissful star should fade and wither,
If one by one
Orion and the Pleiades crash and crumble;
The lordly sun

Be turned away, a beggar, all his triumphs
Gone down in doom,
Wandering unregarded through the cosmos,
None giving him room.

Then would I shout defiant to the whirlwinds;
Boastingly cry,
“Go wreck the world, its towering hills and waters!
But I, even I,

“Whose body was flung out upon the dungheap
With weeds to rot,
Still keep my soul unshaken by the ruin
That harms me not!

“True, I have fled from many a shameful battle,
Did cringe and cower
Before my foes, but who can ever rob me
Of one great hour?”

For joy rang through me like a silver trumpet;
About my head
The tiny flowers flapped in the breeze like banners
Of royal red.

And suddenly the seven deeps of heaven
Were cloven apart,
When love stood in your eyes and shone and trembled
Within your heart.