Classic Poem

If on me too came once the mood
That comes when rain is on the sea
When heaven itself were only stale
And angels gaudy: write of me

That hour the singer triumphed not
I sent not honest streets among —
With fingered lute and laurel-crown
The howling leper of a song.

Though the mood came with sunset words
I stamped it as a sin that smells
Though it was rich with moons and stars
I hid it under all the hells.

Some pride remained: though sadder stared
The face of my good father rime
I spat not at his silence back
The silly insult of a rhyme.

The vision of a world in vain
If once it smote me: there it lies —
Still while a soul can hold it down
And dumb when all the dead shall rise.