Classic Poem

A night of June, the stars were bright,
And all the air was warm and soft,
And round about us floated oft
Some sweet perfume, and then took flight.
Your dress was some pale summer stuff,
Its light was all we cared to have,
I at your feet, and near enough
Sitting to feel your fan's slow wave.

Of ghosts we talked, told mystic tales
Which made both turn, almost afraid,
And peer into the woodbine's shade,
Moved to and fro by gentle gales.
In the late evening, growing still
At last, you gazed long at the stars,
And I at your fair face, until
Midnight struck through the lattice-bars.