Classic Poem

Though all the music in the world be dumb
The vibrant heart still hears the impassioned song,
And when the storm is stilled, the foe o'ercome,
The soul that spent its forces shall be strong.

All energies have rest for final fate;
Grace is the goal of each disordered form;
Love is the full significance of hate
And tenderness the meaning of the storm.

The fire is fire though there be no flame;
The sun still shines though half the world is night,
And peace is but the brief and cunning name
That veils the shock and fury of the fight.

The soul in leash of decorous decree
Is still the wild arena of desire;
Though whipped to line of strict conformity,
The flame still burns, still lives the raging fire.

Thus ever, strife is peace and calm is storm,
And far is near, and near is out of sight;
The spirit gives the only real form
To every phantom in its eerie flight.