Classic Poem

Since the hour when first begun
Heaven and earth their course to run,
Parted by the Heav'nly River
Stand the Herdboy and the Weaver:
For in each year these lovers may
Meet but for one single day.
To and fro the constant swain
Wanders in the heavenly plain,
Till sounds the hour when fore and aft
He's free to deck his tiny craft
In gallant trim, and ship the oar
To bear him to the opposing shore.
Now the autumn season leads,
When through the swaying, sighing reeds
Rustles the chill breath of even,
And o'er the foaming stream of heaven,
Heedless of the silv'ry spray,
He'll row exulting on his way,
And, with his arms in hers entwin'd,
Tell all the loving tale he pin'd
To tell her through the livelong year.
Yes! the seventh moon is here;
And I, though mortal, hail the night
That brings heav'n's lovers such delight.