Classic Poem

Dear, do not die!
Of cypresses and grassy graves sing I--
I hang with wreaths of song death's grief-grown cross,
And weep, to music, for Life's infinite loss,
And make the sweetest verse of bitterest woe,
--I know the way because I love you so;
But I have written griefs that I have known
In other's heart's blood, never in my own.
If you died what more could be sung or said?
I could not sing of Death if you were dead.

Dear, do not love!
Do not love me, keep still aloof, above!
While you and Love in far-off glory stand
Clear sounds the voice, and harp responds to hand.
But if you loved me--if you came quite near
And set Love 'mid life's common things and dear--
Mute would the voice be, Love would be too fair
To waste upon the wide world's empty air,
And, songless, I should droop and vainly pine--
I could not sing of Love if you were mine!