Classic Poem

Bring all the flowers beneath the sun,
That shut their leaves when the light is gone —
For mine is the breath of the crimson rose,
Mine is every bud that blows;
O turn from the dark dull night to me,
For mine is the beauty of earth and sea —
Thy spirit shall be clear as day,
Thy smile shall be the morning ray,
Whose light, wherever it may fall,
Sheds love and blessedness o'er all.
Thy soul shall feel the soft caress
Of unimagined happiness;
For all the roses that combine
To veil the ills of life, are mine:
Mine are the crowded cities, where
Mirth is always on the air —
Where no shadow can eclipse
The smile that lives upon the lips,
But all things ever seem to be
Steeped in sunny revelry.
Mine is the joyous wine-cup, bright
And burning with imprisoned light;
Mine are the melodies which fill
The heart with a voluptuous thrill,
Which cloud the spirit with excess
Of most tumultuous happiness,
And drown all sense of pain in man,
As fully as the wine-cup can.
Mine are the maidens of sunny hair,
And eyes divinely blue;
Mine is the love that knows no care,
But yet is warm and true.
O turn to me, from the gloomy night,
For my voice is the voice of life, and light.