Classic Poem

Had we our bodies to provide
With rule for an eternal date
Well should our intellectual pride
Upon the years for witness wait,
Holding our adversary's will
But heresy for time to kill.

And here where but a mood goes by
And we are folded from the sun,
In marriage of the grave to lie,
And every argument is done,
Each burning hour of argument
Is but in wrangling folly spent.

I will no cunning words devise;
Once told, I can but let you be
In your own patient counsel wise
Of my love's simple honesty,
While somewhere is an acre sown
That shall instruct us, bone by bone.