Classic Poem

No more the white refulgent streets,
Never the dry gutters of the mind,
Shall he in hellish boredom walk
Again, for death is not unkind.

The graceless madness of her lips,
Who was the powder-puff of life,
Cannot rouge those cheeks nor warm
His cold corpuscles back to strife.

What did he gain? What did he lose?
These questions for the pious dead
Are blown from bosoms of kind souls —
A scented sorrow, corseted!