Classic Poem

ALLITERATIVELY REVOLVES ALL AROUND IT

No murmurs, no moons have arisen;
?No laughter to live with the light,
And the earth, like a blind thing in prison,
?Must gnaw through the nimbus of night.
We cry and we quail and we quiver,
?We fly from the fervors of Life—
But the pure and the passionate liver
Feareth no knife!
The heaven is hushed, its great heart aches,
?The quiet is cruel and cold;
Yet somewhere a lyrical star takes
?My longings and gives them its gold.
The world and its warring may rack me,
?Its sorrows may sting like a thong—
But I sing and, though wolves should attack me,
I thrill with my song.
For Lalage's lips have the magic
?Of rhyme and the unravished rose;
And the terrible times are not tragic;
?I am brave 'neath the bitterest blows.
For She is the bountiful bringer
?Of joy even brighter than pain—
And, blesséd or damned, I shall sing her
Again and again!