Classic Poem

The spot where I, upon my winding way,
That maiden met, in beauty's mould designed,
Who, passing swiftly as the hasty wind,
Gave me such bliss as beauteous looks convey;
Gladly to that loved spot I fain would stray,
There carve love-emblems on the tree's fair rind,
With fairest wreathèd flowers my temples bind,
And in cool shade—to dream—my body lay.
But so her glances bright confused my mind,
So was I blinded by her beauteous face,
That long I tottered like a drunken man;
And now, tho' strive my thoughts the best they can,
Howe'er across the field my steps I trace,
That spot so dear I cannot hope to find!