Classic Poem

We must not quarrel, whatever we do;
For if I was (but I was not!) wrong,
Here are the tears for it, here are the tears: —
What else has a woman to offer you?
Love might not last for a thousand years,
You know, though the stars should rise so long.

Oh you, you talk in a man's great way! —
So, love would last though the stars should fall?
Why, yes. If it last to the grave, indeed,
After the grave last on it may.
But — in the grave? Will its dust take heed
Of anything sweet — or the sweetest of all?

Ah, death is nothing! It may be so.
Yet, granting at least that death is death
(Pray look at the rose, and hear the bird),
Whatever it is — we must die to know!
Sometime we may long to say one word
Together — and find we have no breath.

Ah me, how divine you are growing again! —
How coldly sure that the Heavens are sure,
Whither too lightly you always fly
To hide from the passion of human pain.
Come, grieve that the Earth is not secure,
For this one night — and forget the sky!