Classic Poem

If ever thou didst creep
From out the world of sleep,
When the sun slips and the moon dips,
If ever thou wast born;
Or upon the starving lips
Of the gray uncoloured morn.

If ever thou didst fly
In the darkness of the sky,
When it was shaded and cloud-invaded,
And thou didst form and flit
By the wild wind aided,
Like a phantom shed from it.

If ever thou didst fall
Less and less upon the wall,
When the noon heat gathered and beat;
And if thou didst grow amain
To thy former size complete,
As the hours increased again.

If ever thou didst hover
Large and larger, till thy cover
Hid all things hence from the world's sense,
So that we said no more
(In thy total prevalence)
Art thou here as before.
If ever thou wast broken
By the moon which gave her token,
When she broke thee, that she woke thee,
And restored thee to our sight
By the many rays which stroke thee
Of her interfluent light.

If ever thou didst pass
Into blue along the grass,
And into blue the long wood through,
When the sunset lay within 't,
And thou hast touched anew
Into softness every tint.

If ever thou didst fling
Omens from the bird's grey wing,
(As certain these as Oscines,)
If there be a lover dying,
And he sigh upon his knees,
Bring him comfort in his sighing.

If ever thou didst scance
In a wayward wistful dance
Up and down like a frown,
On the wall with giant scrawl,
Till the soul would sink and drown
In the waste and glimmering wall:

If ever thou didst stand
In a staircase stark and grand,
And on that spot in ghastly knot
Didst seem to stir and squeak;
Affright that lover not,
If he with death be weak.
For if his love should weep
In some violet-lidded sleep,
The tears arise in her sweet eyes
Like a golden shadow-fit;
And her blush it flits and flies
As the shadows fly and flit.

And what is likest thee?
What makes thee dear to me?
The blush and tremble which fain dissemble
How much of mine is hers;
The very blush and tremble
Which her sweet pride demurs.