Classic Poem

Dost thou take note and say, in thy far place,
“This birthday is the first since that dark hour
When on my breast was laid Love's funeral flower?”
Thou hast won all, in the immortal race—
Conquerer of life and death and time and space—
And I, a lagging, beaten runner, cower,
While round me mocking memories jeer and lower,
And from thy far world comes no helpful grace.

Thou dost not whisper that those heights are cold
Where I walk not beside thee, and the night
Of death is long Nay, I am over-bold!
Thou sittest comforted and healed with light,
And young and glad; and I who wait am old;
Yet shall I find thee, even in Death's despite.