Classic Poem

My lady comes of knightly race;
Her forbears oft on many a field,
Ere arms to merchandise gave place,
With life's best drops their honor sealed.
She beareth lilies on her shield,
The flower de luce is her device;
And on the roll of her degree
Crosses are blazoned twice and thrice.

Some served their king on foreign strands;
One yeoman fell to make us free;
One, at his country's high commands,
Helped build the country that you see:
What wonder that his child to me
Seems of that life a precious part,
Or that I render her in rhyme
The constant service of my heart?

I know mine age forbids to me
More than a distant lover's doom;
To worship still and dream that she
Some day may wander to my tomb,
And haply hang a clover-bloom
Upon my marble cross, in sign
That she remembers me with love,
Though always cold and never mine!