Classic Poem

A kind war-wave dashed thee and me together;
So we have drifted to the shores of peace,
A wintry shore, attained in wintry weather.
Must here our loving cease?

Ah, was not ancient Love born of the ocean?
And is not our Love a tempest child
That rose from out the seething war's commotion
And blessed it, as she smiled?

The buffets of this storm I have forgiven,
And all its drunken, rude barbarity,
Aye, I have begged a blessing on't from heaven
Because it brought me thee!

My soul doth utterly refuse to render
Back to the waters of forgetfulness
This sister-love of thine, that grew more tender
The greater my distress.

Shall, then, our wave-born love by waves be swallowed,
And foam to foam, as dust to dust, return?
Not so! I never cease to hold it hallowed,
Nor cease for thee to yearn.

Never cease we, while on this side we wander,
To go like children singing hand in hand,
Until our Father smiles, and calls us yonder
Into the home-like land.