Classic Poem

The moon is up, and soft and bright,
And tender is her light in June,
For is this not a lovely night,
And is not that a splendid moon?

Oh, that you knew how often, love,
When I was in the tropic sea,
My eyes were on the moon above
While thought was wandering back to thee.

And when we lost the polar star,
Far southward of the central line,
To you I struck the soft guitar,
And was your moonlight song like mine?

For mine was love, as still it is;
And shall it be forever crost,
And must I in a night like this
But sigh to find “Love's Labour Lost”?