Classic Poem

In the place where the grizzly reposes,
Under peaks where a right is a wrong,
I have memories richer than roses,
Sweet echoes more sweet than a song;
Sounds sweet as the voice of a singer
Made sacred with sorrows unsaid,
And a love that implores me to linger
For the love of dead days and their dead.
But I turn, throwing kisses, returning
To strife and to turbulent men,
As to learn to be wise, as unlearning
All things that were manliest then.