Classic Poem

At first I thought her like a star, —
Too far above me and too bright
Save to be reverenced from afar, —
A worship, not a heart's delight.

She was an angel, flitting fair
Through ranges of ideal life
So high above earth's common air
I dared not think of her as wife.

She was a rose superb that grew,
Shut in by walls so thick and high
No man its dainty heart might view:
It opened only to the sky.

But, now, she sits here by my side,
Star, angel, rose no more; but still,
Though disenchanted I, my bride
Does more than all my dreams fulfil.