Classic Poem

Her young face is softly fair—
Pearl of morning flushed with red—
And the golden, silken hair
Makes a glory round her head.

Crimson lips, like rubies bright,
Smiling, part o'er tiny pearls;
Little wandering stars of light
Love to nestle in her curls.

And her voice is soft and low,
Clear as music, and as sweet;
Hearing it, you hardly know
Where the sound and silence meet.

All the magic who can tell
Of her laughter and her sighs,
Or what heavenly meanings dwell
In her kind, confiding eyes!

All her ways are winning ways,
Full of tenderness and grace;
And a witching sweetness plays
Fondly o'er her gentle face.

True and pure her soul within,—
Breathing a celestial air!
Evil and the shame of sin
Could not dwell a moment there.

Is it but a vision, this?
Fond creation of the brain?
Phantom of a fancied bliss?
Type of beauty void and vain?

No! the tides of being roll
Toward a paradise to be,
Where this idol of my soul
Waits and longs for love and me.