Classic Poem

'T is my pleasure not to know
Much of mortal joy or pain;
Blithely through my life I go
With playful fancies in my brain.
A furtive creature, wild and shy,
I may not meet a mortal eye;
In densest woods alone I lurk
To watch the building birds at work.
Like a free, fantastic elf,
I weave my hair with berries red;
Flit and frolic by myself,
And mock the singers overhead.

I used to be a thing of bliss;
I knew no other life than this;
But on a day, a golden day,
I found a mortal far astray.
I heard his footfall on the grass
And held my breath till he should pass.
He had a free and rustic grace,
An agile frame, a swarthy face;
His coat was green, his cap was red,
His black locks tangled round his head.
I deemed him, as he loitered by,
Almost as beautiful as I.

He paused within an open glade,
And many a solemn word he said;
And ever, when he ceased to speak,
Large tear-drops trickled down his cheek.
His eyes gazed upward, through the air;
I looked, but there was nothing there.
He raised his arms, hand clasped in hand;
His words I could not understand;
Then sighed, and smiled, and so was gone:
'T was then I learned I was alone.

When young birds chirp themselves to sleep,
I sometimes wish that I could weep:
I sit me down upon a stone,
And feel that I am all alone:
I rest my cheek upon my hands
And sigh, but nothing understands:
I sing, my very songs are sad —
I would I ne'er had seen the lad!
Ah me! I feel what must be pain —
Would I might see the lad again!