Classic Poem

With spices and urns they come: ah me, how sorrows can babble!
Nothing abides save love; and to love comes gladness at last:
Sad was the Legend and sweet; but its truth was mingled with fable;
Dire was the conflict and long; but the rage of the conflict is past.

They are passed, the three great Woes; and the days of the dread desolation;
To amethyst changed are the stones blood-stain'd of the temple-floor;
A spiritual power she lives who seem'd to die as a nation;
Her story is that of a soul; and the story of earth is no more.

Endurance it was that won — Suffering, than Action thrice greater;
For Suffering humbly acts . Away with sigh and with tear!
She has gone before you and waits: she has gifts for the blinded who hate her;
And the bright shape by the death-cave in music answers, " Not here. "