Classic Poem

Never say of me:
She had no tears to weep—
Her hard eyes knew but little more
Than brush of wind and sleep.

And never say of me:
Tears were in her eyes
Till, like a curtain, weeping hung
Across her dearest skies.

Say this: Her tears were plenty—
She wore them in her mind,
Where every one became a moon,
And terrible and kind.