Classic Poem

I WOULD be a torch unto your hand,
A lamp upon your forehead, Labor,
In the wild darkness before the Dawn
That I shall never see …

We shall advance together, my Beloved,
Awaiting the mighty ushering …
Together we shall make the last grand charge
And ride with gorgeous Death
With all her spangles on
And cymbals clashing …
And you shall rush on exultant as I fall—
Scattering a brief fire about your feet …

Let it be so …
Better—while life is quick
And every pain immense and joy supreme,
And all I have and am
Flames upward to the dream …
Than like a taper forgotten in the dawn,
Burning out the wick.