Classic Poem

Ah me, ah me, the day when I am dead,
And all of me that was immaculate
Given to darkness, lies in shame or state,
Surely my soul shall come to that last bed
And weep for all the whiteness that was red,
Standing beside the ravished ivory gate
When the pale dwelling-place is desolate
And all the golden rooms untenanted.

For in the smoke of that last holocaust,
When to the regions of unsounded air
That which is deathless still aspires and tends,
Whither my helpless soul shall we be tossed?
To what disaster of malign Despair,
Or terror of unfathomable ends?