Classic Poem

My being bows to thee, —
My spirit knows the sign,
The star that rules thy destiny
Is a mightier star than mine;
At morning and by night,
Have I followed its clear light,
And I feel the sure control
Of the spell upon my soul.

Thy beauty is a thing,
To gaze at from afar;
A bird upon its heavenward wing,
The lustre of a star:
Yet in dreams of my unrest,
Do I fold thee on my breast,
And start from troubled sleep
To watch and pray and weep.

I mingle with the gay,
They court me with their wiles, —
But coldly do I turn away
From beauty's richest smiles;
For thou art on my sight,
A vision of delight,
Ever living all apart,
Like a thought upon my heart.

I mingle in the dance,
I join the festal throng,
But little heed the mazy trance,
Or list the mellow song;
For thou art ever near,
And thy voice upon my ear
Dwells like a spirit tone,
Which will be heard alone.

Then urge no more the dream,
That paints my bosom free;
Shew never more, by fancy's gleam,
The impossible to be:
For oh, thou wast and art
The madness of my heart, —
With my life and with my mind,
With my very being twined.