Classic Poem

O LET me sing as clear as merry Merle
Who does not mourn when morning is aglow
In April-time, because his nest is low!
I see the delicate custom of the curl
That fringes on her forehead's haughty pearl,
The ample arching brows that overgrow
Eyes wistful-wise, not knowing all they show,
And lips where womanhood has kissed the girl.
Nobility has touched her on the brow,
And beauty on her cheek, and by the hand
Has led her to a throne where many bow
Before the queenship of her loveliness:
But many stare and do not understand
What sovereign attributes these signs express.