Classic Poem

O love, what do they know who only know
Thee as a god of grace and loving-kindness:
Who will adore thee only if thou show
Such gentle light as will not pierce their blindness,
But flee the crucible where thou dost try
Whether of gold or dross our lives are made,
And for the bowers of consolation sigh
When as a man of war thou com'st arrayed?
For light (though love without) within is fire:
Thou art all fire, O Love! and thou in me
Must burn with flames that leap for ever higher
Till there is nothing left in me but thee;
And though thy fierce consuming be as Hell,
I know no Heaven but this. Thus all is well.