Classic Poem

I.

I see the rose-bud, wet with night's cold dew,
Smile through her tears, as if some joy new-born
Stirred at her heart. To some deep instinct true,
Her eyelids part, kissed by the waking morn.
Softly her wondrous beauty she reveals;
Opens her crimson bosom full and fair,
To drink thy beams, O Sun! and, drinking, feels
Warmed with fresh life and filled with pleasure rare.
On thee I see her waiting all the day,
As by thine influence filled with sweet content,
And anxious only not to lose one ray,
While thy pure glory to her gaze is lent.

II.

So my own spirit, what time sad and chilled
By earth's dark shadows that do close me o'er,
Looks up through streaming eyes and smiles, as filled
With kindling joy, when thy kind beams once more,
O God, my Sun! do chase the shades away;
And when full-orbed thou breakest on her sight,
My soul expands herself to catch the day;
Athirst, her inmost being drinks thy light,
Thy cheering warmth, all influences benign;
Till her immortal essence, 'neath thy glow,
Blossoms with graces, throbs with joy divine,
And back to thee her loftiest ardors flow!