Classic Poem

Who wrongeth love doth himself grievous wrong;
For he hath shut away the light of heaven
And doomed his darkened soul to wander long
In nether exile, desolate, unforgiven;
Till at God's feet, imploring his release,
Wronged love, all pardoning, shall win his peace.

Thus in her low voice like the silver chime
Of bells heard over distant hills by night,
She read aloud her chosen poet's rhyme —
How two of old found favor in love's sight;
And one was false and one with cureless wound,
Closed his sad eyes in consecrated ground.