Classic Poem

We talked together, you and I:
It was a queenly night in June;
Low hung the moon in yonder sky,
And on your cheek low-glanced the moon.

Your gentle hand was mine to hold;
My ill-fed heart began to speak;
And ever, as the tale was told,
Dear friend, the moon was on your cheek.

Old loss that would not let me rest;
Old grief that slept, but ever lay
A languid load upon my breast,
Awoke, and wept themselves away.

Up climbed the moon; slow waned the night;
And still you bent to hear me speak;
I drank the comfort of the light
In those bright tears upon your cheek.

From off my life the burdens fall:
Still in their graves through tranquil years
They rest, those weary sorrows, all,
That faded in the light of tears.