Classic Poem

The Earth has wept for grievous sins of man,
For pride of kings and muttered groans of slave.
It proves no pain in thunders when they rave,
Nor yet in desolate lightnings, blue and wan:

But mourns, regretful, in some unknown cave,
Where gleams of sunshine can not reach to scan;
Here does it weep, as only Nature can,
Sweet tears, as sweet as violets on a grave.

Deep in its breast, serene, sad breast of woe,
Deep in its heart, eternal heart of nights,
We find those tears Earth fain would never show
To all the odium of our torches' lights;
Those deathless tears, diaphanous of flow,
Forged in the silence of cold stalactites.