Classic Poem

I FOUND a flower in the wood,
Growing softly by some water;
Had I plucked it when I could,
The old wild-wood's fairy daughter—
Not thus vainly had I sought her.

So deep a spell was on me laid,
I might not stretch my hand to take her,
So fragile she, I was afraid
Even my lightest touch would break her—
And now, alas, what voice shall wake her!