Classic Poem

Laughter is sacred, secret unalloyed.
The dark irrational gaiety of things
The boyish valour of the world that swings
The stars exultant in a sickening void.

They say he never laughed, whose anguish deep
Redeemed us on the mountain of the Skull
Who over Salem, neither being dull
Nor cowardly, was man enough to weep.

Grief grows like grass: nor need he, though he can
With sudden pity make a pompous strife
Death is so plain upon the face of life
Tears may be plain upon the face of man.

But mirth is sacred: when from all his own
He sundered, going up a mount to pray
Under the terrible stars in stern array
Upon the lonely peak he laughed alone.