Classic Poem

I

O IT was sweet! O it was sweet
To watch in the dance those gay young feet —
And to hear the laughter ringing wild
From the merry lips of that darling child —
That girl serene, who scarce seventeen
Happy summers on earth had seen.

II

O it was rare! O it was rare
To smooth the folds of her chesnut hair,
While she murmured some old ballad rhyme,
In the summer eve, which is love's own time,
Her head at rest on my loving breast,
And the sunset dying athwart the west.

III

O it is sad! O it is sad
To think of the joys that once I had:
To wander lone over land and sea,
And know that she waits no more for me.
This tress of her fair soft chesnut hair
Is all that the cruel grave would spare.