Classic Poem

Pale face pathetically lit with laughter,
Pure heart and glad, since once my song began,
Man has known, thee pass him but thereafter
Felt his blood stir and knew himself a man.

God, when the world seemed weary and neglected,
Set thee, a silver trumpet, to his lip:
Blew, and we rose a chivalry erected,
Shield on the shoulder, sword hilt on the hip.

Queen of high hearts, I could not love or crave thee,
Kind face and clear, I would not if I could:
Thine is to shine as given of him that gave thee
God's sun that gilds the evil and the good.

Pale face and frank, of its own mirth bewild'red
Love is a new thing: seek it not awhile;
One thing we crave, and of thy mercy, Mildred
Smile on us all still: be thyself and smile.

Nay, what are we, we pass from thee uncounted,
Yet will we hold heads high and gratefully
What of all stars that only God has counted,
He set our feet upon a star with thee.