Classic Poem

WHAT were it all:—This, once, god-haunted earth,
Crowned with the summer's glory, breathing still
Ambrosial perfumes from the rain-blessed hill,
The beaded grasses and fair vales—where mirth
Breaks from the glistening trees?—What were it worth,
If one might never look in eyes that thrill
The soul with love's mad pain, whose joy doth fill
The heart's deep cup of woe, where song hath birth?

Yet what is all:—The saffron-dotted lea,
The peaceful pastures and their pictured kine;
The dappled meadows and the spreading tree;
Though these I love—yet must my heart repine
If no fond breast will share their joys with me,
If no dear footstep will keep pace with mine.