Classic Poem

God knows I would not blame you, dear,
I do not know what thing am I
How hard a burden on your back,
How stale an eyesore to your eye.

I never knew myself at all,
I trod the tangled woods, but ne'er
Came to the mystic well or saw
What monster might be mirrored there.

I saw all faces save my own —
How should I see it now, who rise,
Stand between Heaven and Earth and Hell
And only see the brave blue eyes.