Classic Poem

Oh ! lose the winter from thine heart, the darkness from thine eyes,
And from the low hearth-chair of dreams, my Love-o', May, arise;
And let the maidens robe thee like a white white-lilac tree,
Oh! hear the call of Spring, fair Soul,—and wilt thou come with me?


—Even so, and even so!
Whither thou goest, I will go.
—I will follow thee.

Then wilt thou see the orange trees star-flowering over Spain,
Or arched and mounded Kaiser-towns that molder mid Almain,
Or through the cypress-gardens go of magic Italy?
Oh! East or West or South or North, say, wilt thou come with me?


—Even so, or even so!
Whither thou goest, I will go.
—I will follow thee.

But wilt thou farther come with me through hawthorn red and white
Until we find the wall that hides the Land of Heart's Delight?
The gates all carved with olden things are strange and dread to see:
But I will lift thee through, fair Soul. Arise and come with me!


—Even so, Love, even so!
Whither thou goest, I will go!
—Lo, I follow thee.