Classic Poem

I deemed the rose of morning-twilight sweet,
That blossoms but to fade,
I loved the noon-day shimmering o'er the wheat,
Seen from the beechen shade.

The clarions of the sunset called me there
To watch through tranced hours,
The conflagration and the dying flare
Of cloudy Trojan towers.

Now, by the Sea, I troth my soul to Night,
My bride shall be a star,
Her lure shall lift me to her winged height
Beyond the phantom bar.