Classic Poem

My whole heart longs to see thee, sweetheart mine,
No longer where the gaslights flame and flare,
But where the pure sweet-scented country air
Plays with green tender boughs of larch and pine.
Had ever forest Dryad eyes like thine
I wonder, or wood-nymph with leafy hair
So sweet a smile?—For thee the ferns prepare
Their soft fresh scent, and the beech-leaves their shine.

I long to see thee where the sunlight falls
Upon some grassy bank which bees pervade
Or where some giant oak-tree casts deep shade,
Or where the circling sea-mew curves and calls.
Thine are not only the theatric boards,
But also dew-kissed leaves and velvet swards.