Classic Poem

I.

You sing with voice, I sing with words:
But both are one
In loving music like the birds
And loving flowers and sun.

II.

The voice of radiant youth is thine;
Youth's glance supreme,
Most sweet of all things, most divine,
That makes all life a dream.

III.

Mine only this — the while I may
Before thy throne
To bend, and call the dawn of day
Within thy heart my own.