Classic Poem

Before the sun rose at yester-dawn
I met a fair maid adown the lawn;
Then berry and snow to her cheek gave its glow,
And her bosom was fair as the sailing swan.
Then, pulse of my heart! what gloom is thine?

Her beautiful voice more hearts hath won
Than Orpheus' lyre of old hath done:
Her ripe eyes of blue were crystals of dew,
On the grass of the lawn before the sun.
And, pulse of my heart! what gloom is thine?