Classic Poem

Thy Sweetness

A sweetness not of flowers or suns or seas
Broods o'er thee. Thou art mingled with the air
Of summer: yet than summer sky more fair
Thou art, and tenderer than June-soft breeze.
Thy sweetness, love, is in the almond-trees
And in the lilacs, — and the breath of spring
Doth round about thee like a garment cling;
Yet art thou sweeter, sweetest soul, than these.

Thy sweetness meets me in the morning-tide,
And as the breath of flowers it fills the noon
And all the forest vistas far and wide
And trackless spaces haunted of the moon.
By day thou art my joy, and, when the night
Folds wings around us, mine untold delight.