Classic Poem

Where are the eagle-wings that lifted thee
Above the ken of mortal hopes and fears,
And was it thou who in serener years
Framed magic words with such sweet symmetry?
Didst thou compel the sun, the stars, the sea,
Harness the golden horses of the spheres,
And make the winds of God thy charioteers
Along the roads of Immortality?

Art thou dead then? Nay, leave the folded scroll,
Let us keep quiet lips and patient hands,
Not as sheer children use, who would unclose
The petals of young flowers, but paying toll
At that high gate where Time grave gardener, stands
Waiting the ripe fulfilment of the rose.