Classic Poem

Fade, then,—die, depart, and come no more—
You whose beauty I abhor—
Out of my brain
Take back your voice that lodges there in pain,
Tear out you thousand golden roots
That thrust their tentacles in my heart
But bear no fruits.

Now like an exquisite but sterile tree
Your beauty grows in me
And feeds on light
Its lifted arms of leaves and blossoms white.
Come birds, come bees,
And marry flower with flower that it may bear
Like other trees.

Or else let hatred liek a lightning come,
And flash, and strike it numb,
And strew on rock
These singing leaves, that, singing, seem to mock.
Bare under wind and hard with grief,
And leave not in a single crevice
A single leaf.