Classic Poem

Dear is that picture for my childhood's sake, —
The man asleep, so near to love or harm;
The winged boy, that stays Armida's arm,
The siren-girl, all hush'd, lest he awake;
While, in the background of that pictured tale,
Sown with enchanted herbs, and clad with gloom,
A sombre eminence o'erlooks the vale,
A purple hill, where all my dreams found room:
'Tis strange, with how few touches of a brush,
That painter's hand supplied, in life's fresh dawn,
The mystic thoughts I loved! Sweet thoughts! deep-drawn,
Far-destined, cherish'd still without a blush;
Deep-drawn — from God's own founts of mystery;
Far destined — for my soul must ever be.