Classic Poem

In the still, melancholy evening-hour,
Ring in my ears songs silent long ago,
While down my cheeks my tears in torrents flow,
And from my old heart-wounds the blood-streams pour.
And like as in a magic mirror's floor,
Before my eyes my darling's image flits,
In bodice red as at her work she sits:
Around her, holy peace reigns evermore.
Anon, she'll spring out of her chair, and sever
From her dear head one of the daintiest curls,
And give it me, with joy my head still whirls.
But Satan's turned my joy to pain for ever,
He from those hairs has spun a cable strong
And leads me up and down, for years along.