Classic Poem

OH , have you seen my Marion,
Sweet summer breezes, flying far
From sun to sun, from star to star?
Have ye caressed her soft brown hair,
And kissed her feet and white arms bare?
Then whither, tell me, hath she flown,
My little one, my love, my own—
My Marion!

My pretty blue-eyed Marion,
Whose small white hands swept o'er my face
With such a dainty, tender grace,
Who slept so softly on my breast,
And woke, a glad bird from her nest;
Bear ye no message, breezes, say,
From her I mourn both night and day—
My Marion!

Have ye not seen my Marion,
O sunbeams as ye dancing go
From fields of bloom to peaks of snow?
She passed so quickly from my sight,
My poor, sad eyes were dazzled quite,
And but a moment could I see
The white host bearing her from me—
My Marion!

O little, loving Marion!
Is it in kingdoms far away
You wait for me both night and day?
Is it in lands beyond the sun,
In groves of spice and cinnamon?
Is it in gardens glad with bloom,
And redolent with sweet perfume—
My Marion?

Ah, dimpled, darling Marion!
I fain would be the one to meet
Your tiny, tottering, tipsy feet;
I fain would run with outstretched arms,
To soothe your childish, sweet alarms;
Would smoothe your skirts and comb your hair,
And rock you in the glad blue air—
My Marion!

O laughing, lisping Marion!
When I on some autumnal morn
Go through the vales of tasseled corn,
And purpling vines and bending trees,
And singing birds and humming bees,
Shall I not in some secret place
Behold you, darling, face to face—
My Marion?

O pure and patient Marion!
Or child, or maid, when all is done,
Your face will be the same sweet one;
The shy, glad welcome in your eyes,
My dream fulfilled of Paradise!
But now, oh, whither have you flown,
My little one, my love, my own—