Classic Poem

I thank thee for the silken prize—
So sweetly shines its heavenly blue
That one might think thine own bright eyes
Had kindled the celestial hue
Or that a cloud from heaven had strayed,
And tinged it with its softest shade.

As round the vaulted dome of night
A thousand radiant cressets shine
So flame these points of silver light
That bound the azure circles line
And brighter seem the rays to me
Because their lustre came from thee.

In every collar's loosened tie—
In every stitch that time shall strain—
When night obscures my troubled sky
Those stars shall scatter light again—
O then shall grateful memory turn
And think of her who bade them burn.

My gratitude will never cool,
My sister says so too.
I fear that when she sees a fool
She'll always think of you