Classic Poem

When I have folded up this tent
— And laid the soiled thing by,
I shall go forth 'neath different stars,
— Under an unknown sky.

And yet whatever house I find
— Beneath the grass or snow
Will ne'er be tenantless of love
— Or lack the face I know.

O lips — wild roses wet with rain!
— Blown hair of drifted brown!
O passionate eyes! O panting heart —
— When in that colder town

I lie, the one inhabitant,
— My hands across my breast,
How warm through all eternity
— The summer of my rest!

To each frail root beneath the ground
— That thrusts its flower above,
I shall impart a fiercer sap —
— I who have known your love!

And growing things will lean to me
— To learn what love hath won,
Till I shall whisper to the dust
— That secret of the Sun.

Yea, though my spirit never wake
— To hear the voice I knew,
Even an endless sleep would be
— Stirred by the dreams of You!