Classic Poem

To thee, bright Lady! whom all hearts confess
Their queen, as thou dost highly pace along,
Like the Night's pale and lovely sultaness
Walking the wonder-silent stars among!
Beyond my lowly hopes — take thou no wrong
If in a perilous vein of liberty,
Nymph of the splendid brow and raven tress,
This humble strain I dedicate to thee.
Cold in thy loveliness, as that fond stone
Which vainly emulates thy purity,
Standing in Beauty's temple all alone, —
Do not despise the God of Song in me;
Do not, because thou art, we justly own,
Above all praise, above all homage be!