Classic Poem

Each light is like a flashing gem
Within her guilty diadem;
The night is shed on her like hair
That hides a face's dark despair.

The deadly river, too, glides by
Like some swift tiger, stealthily,
Its sinuous back all painted bright
With quivering bars of golden light.

And far above the city's jars
The ancient army of the stars,
That in a quiet, reproachful mood
Keep watch from God's own solitude.