Classic Poem

I stood where gifts were showered on men from Heaven,
And some had honors and the joy thereof;
And some received with solemn, radiant faces
The gift of love.

The green I saw of bay-leaves, and of laurel,
Of gold the gleam.
A voice spoke to me, standing empty-handed,
“For thee—a dream.”

Forbear to pity, ye who richly laden
Forth from the place of Heaven's bounty went;
Who marvel that I smile, my hands still empty—
I am content.

Ye cannot guess how dowered beyond the measure
Of your receiving to myself I seem.
Lonely and cold, I yet pass on enraptured—
I have my dream.