Classic Poem

A maiden sat musingly down by the side
Of Life's river that flowed at her feet,
And she watcht the dark stream 'neath the willows glide
In its voiceless and stately retreat.
'Twas a solemn tide--
Deep, dark, and wide,
And fringed with a sedgy fray:
In the morning--at night--
Through darkness and light,
It floated--floated away.

The maid was light-hearted, with features as fair
As the sunbeams that played o'er her face,
And her bosom was garnisht with flowerets rare
That gave to it many a grace:
And she playfully sung,
As she plucked and flung
Each blossom as bright as the day
From her breast to the stream
That like a drear dream
Went floating--floating away.

The sun in its brightness illumined the sky;
The lark loudly carolled aloft;
The breezes swept onward with many a sigh,
And kissed with caresses soft.
Still, still the fair maid
By the dark river strayed,
And flung forth in thoughtless play
Each bud from her breast
In wilful unrest,
And laught as it floated away.

Up the tall pine trees clomb the shadows of eve
To welcome the coming night;
And the recreant bird in the twilight was heard
Wending nest-ward in plaintive plight;
When, too long delay'd,
In haste rose the maid
Heart-tired of her flirting play.
And she saw the last gleam
Of her flow'rs down the stream
Floating--floating away.

The blossoms so chaste that had made her more fair
With their sweetness, their perfume, and light,
Were gone--and her bosom, now cheerless and bare,
Grew cold in the dewy night.
Thus they who, in youth,
Mistake flirting for truth,
And fritter their love but in play,
Will behold, like the maid,
All their brightest charms fade,
And floating for ever away.