Classic Poem

Last night, in sad and troubled dreams,
Again thy spirit crossed my sleep —
That strange, unquiet slumber seems
No other form to keep.

Methought I wandered forth once more,
Beneath the dying moon's pale face,
And stood, as I have stood before,
At the old trysting-place.

Long watching — but thou cam'st at last,
No longer proud — no longer cold —
And those dear arms were round me cast,
As kindly as of old.

And that dear lip sought gently mine,
In mild and tender accents breaking —
Ah, ! if that dream divine
Had never known a waking!