Classic Poem

It minds me of a landscape in the May,
When rarest mist wraps all the distant height;
The base smiles clear, and shows the lights at play,
And every feature is revealed to sight.

So round her mouth the light in beauty breaks,
The power to read her very heart seems given;
But lo! her brow Thought's veil of mystery takes,
And no one sees how near she is to Heaven!