Classic Poem

God gave to one to pluck the fragrant flower
And wear it: on another God bestowed,
Instead of that fair living bud that glowed
And glittered, the imperishable power
Of voice, — that, not for any paltry hour,
But through the eternity of voiceful days,
The beauty of that blossom he might praise
And round it all the fruits of yearning shower.

Which is the greatest gift and which the glory?
To hold thee in a perishable embrace, —
Or to hand down in deathless spotless story
The beauty of the roseflower of thy face,
Chanting, till even the locks of Time are hoary,
One girl's unspeakable resistless grace.