Classic Poem

The brown bridge spans the streamlet and
The evergreens from hand to hand
Arch the roadway's snow-white sand.

A picture! and I loved the same
Till Annie there to meet me came,
And turned my picture to a frame!

An oval, such as might entwine
The mild Madonna of a shrine
From some old master's hand divine.

And ever since, in passing there,
The same sweet phantom haunts the air
With azure eyes and golden hair.

Grow on, ye evergreens, and throw
Soft shadows on the dust below!
And ye dark waters murmur low

Of other streams, not dark or wide,
So Annie with the grace that died
Shall meet me on the other side.