Classic Poem

At midnight hour I went, not willingly,
A little, little boy, yon churchyard past,
To Father Vicar's house; the stars on high
On all around, their beauteous radiance cast,
At midnight hour.

And when, in journeying o'er the path of life,
My love I follow'd, as she onward moved,
With stars and northern lights o'er head in strife,
Going and coming, perfect bliss I proved
At midnight hour.

Until at length the full moon, lustre-fraught,
Burst thro' the gloom wherein she was enshrined;
And then the willing, active, rapid thought
Around the past, as round the future twined,
At midnight hour.