Classic Poem

Sweet, teach me gentle secrets that thy soul
Has learnt of God in early girlish years;
Let me with outpouring of sweet calm tears
Pass from self's kingdom into thy control,
And humbly touch with lips the crystal bowl
Thou holdest out with timid hands and fears:
No, sweet one, I have made away with sneers;
The cynic perished when his heart you stole
And wrapped it in your mantle mute and pure.
See I am seated, quiet, at your feet,
Waiting to gather golden lilies, sweet:
Preach to me, and be confidently sure
That what God's tenderness has taught to you
Must be for me delicious, perfect, true.