Classic Poem

There was a crown of thorns upon the head
Of Love, when he across my threshold came.
I knew the sign and did not ask his name,
But took him to my heart, although he said,
'The soul's dumb agonies, the tears unshed
That sear the heart, th' injustice and the blame
Of the harsh world,--God wills that I should claim
Through these immortal Life when Hope is dead.'

I took him to my heart and clasped him close.
E'en though his thorns did make my bosom bleed.
Then from the very core of pain arose
A joy that seemed to be the utmost need
Of my worn soul! Love whispered, 'This the meed
Of hearts that keep their faith amidst Love's woes.'