Classic Poem

Flower of a Southern garden newly blowing,
Fair as a lily bending on its stem,
Whose curled and yellow locks, in ringlets flowing,
Need not the lustre of a diadem;
Than all the wealth of Ind, a brighter gem;
Than all the pearls, that bud in Oman's sea,
Than all the corals waving over them,
Purer the living light that circles thee;
And through thy tender cheek's transparency
The vermeil tint of life is lightly flushing,
Or, at the faintest touch of modesty,
In one deep crimson tide is wildly rushing;
Like rose-leaves, when the morning's breath is brushing
Away the seeds of pearl the night-cloud shed,
So thy twin opening lips are purely blushing,
Ripe with the softest dew and clearest red;
Purer than crystal in its virgin bed,
Than fountains bubbling in a granite cave,
Than sheeted snow, that wraps a mountain's head,
Or lilies glancing through a stainless wave,
Purer the snow that mantles o'er thy breast,
And rests upon thy forehead; — O, with thee
The hours might flit away so sweetly blest,
That time would melt into eternity!

Go with me to the desert loneliness
Of forest and of mountain, — we will share
The joys, that only purify and bless,
And make a paradise of feeling there;
And daily thou shalt be more sweet and fair,
And still shalt take a more celestial hue,
Like spirits melting in the midway air,
Till lost and blended in the arch of blue:
Alone, not lonely, we will wander through
Thickets of blooming shrubs and mantling vines,
Happy as bees amid the summer dew,
Or song-birds, when the fresh spring morning shines;
And when departing life shall wing its flight,
And render back the gift which God has given,
Be then to me a seraph form of light,
And bear my fleeting soul away to Heaven.