Classic Poem

So warm an air I ne'er have felt,
As breathed from thee upon my heart,
When near thy golden shrine I knelt,
Child of the summer! Nature's art!

Thy radiant smile seemed more to me,
Than music from a well-toned lyre,
Thine eye as gentle as the sea,
When soft afar day's beams expire.

Why should I breast the shining foam,
And weary the wild wave pursue,
If Beauty light the path at home,
Near thee, as fresh as morning dew?

What were the Indian gems if thou
Art brilliant as the sapphire's glow,
Or frozen Alps all blanched as now,
With their perpetual crown of snow?

If cold thine eye upon me fall,
And motionless thy brimming heart,
Thou 'rt nothing to me, and art all,
Child of the summer! Nature's art!

Some shadowy years may fold o'er thee,
Far in the dark-veiled future's hand,
And tears bedim the smiling eye,
And fruitless vows the heart command.

And life that is a weary thing,
May twine a wreath of care for thee,
And sin, and time, and sorrowing,
O'er the smooth brow trace their decree.

Thus on my thought the line is traced,
Thus sin, and time, and woe have done,
Yet in thy beauty are effaced,
As night is lifted by the sun.

Cold is the heart if Beauty's power
May wake no murmur in its tone,
That feels no more the early hour,
When first the sun of Beauty shone.

We met, — to part, few words to speak,
The hour by fate's chill poison sped,
My pathway leads o'er snow and bleak,
Thine, where the blushing roses shed.

A richer glow than day's last smile,
A purer light than morn's first beam,
My heart is but a rock-girt isle,
Thine, like the gently gliding stream.

Then, fare thee well! speed joyous far,
Then, fare thee well! my queenly child,
Like Lyra, or the evening star
That o'er the meadow shines so mild.