Classic Poem

E AIR and far is the mountain crest,
In the summer skies a-glowing;
Safe and sweet is the hither side,
Where the bees and the sweet-breathed kine abide,
And the soft south wind is blowing.
Maiden true, with your hand in mine,
I look to the heights untrod, divine,
Where the perfect flower is growing.

Did I lose the good when I sought the best?
Loving you past all measure,
Could I choose but say, My love, I love?
Be it mine to say, be it yours to prove
Me worthy of love's dear treasure—
For I have climbed the heights divine,
Hoping and fearing, to wait the sign
Of your love or your displeasure.