Classic Poem

Not now thy beams arouse me morn by morn,
O Sun! as when my flesh was warm and young.
Out of our love what children fair were born
To rapture! ere thy last wild song was sung.
I deem thy day is Night and thou the Moon--
So feeble is thy kiss, so cold thy light,--
Lamp of my life, alas!--how soon, how soon--
O speak! comes thy last greeting and good-night?
My breasts are sere as sand, no flowers bloom,
No grass, no forests hide my misery bare;
The reaches of the tyrannous poles consume
Those gardens of delight we made so fair,
And men lie dark in caves, a sullen race,
Framed of ray daughter's flesh but now my bane,
Yet shall I not withdraw my patient face,
Nor tomb them in my hollow caves of pain.
Soon shall I creep no more about thee, orb
Of Heaven, for all my thews grow stark and dry.
When the years drag me to my end--absorb,
Embrace, enfold, caress me, ere I die!