Classic Poem

Just ere the feet of her I loved the best
Began to tread the thorny path of pain,
We two, with all our joyous household train,
Found in a Wicklow glen our summer rest.
Sweet was our sojourn in that peaceful nest.
The garden pleas'd us, and the stream that flow'd
Beneath the thatch-roof'd cot, our quaint abode;
Not seldom, too, we hail'd some friendly guest.
She lov'd the place, and often spoke its praise;
And then would I half-playfully repeat
The words of Deirdre, from a like retreat
Forc'd to return to Erin's endless jars —
" Sun kiss thee, moon caress thee, dewy stars
Refresh thee still, dear scene of quiet days!"