Classic Poem

The kiss that would make a maid's cheek flush
Wroth, as if kissing were a sin,
Amidst the Argus eyes and din
And tell-tale glare of noon,
Brings but a murmur and a blush
Beneath the modest moon.

Ye days, gone — never to come back,
When love returned entranced me so
That still its pictures move and glow
In the dark chamber of my heart —
Leave not my memory's future track;
I will not let you part.

'Twas moonlight when my earliest love
First on my bosom dropped her head;
A moment then concentrated
The bliss of years, as if the spheres
Their course had faster driven,
And carried, Enoch-like above,
A living man to Heaven.

'Tis by the rolling moon we measure
The date between our nuptial night
And that blest hour which brings to light
The pledge of faith — the fruit of bliss,
When we impress upon the treasure
A father's earliest kiss.

The Moon 's the Earth's enamoured bride:
True to him in her very changes,
To other stars she never ranges:
Though, cross'd by him, sometimes she dips
Her light in short offended pride,
And faints to an eclipse.

The fairies revel by her sheen;
'Tis only when the Moon 's above
The fire-fly kindles into love,
And flashes light to show it:
The nightingale salutes her Queen
Of Heaven, her heavenly poet.

Then, ye that love! by moonlight gloom
Meet at my grave, and plight regard.
Oh! could I be the Orphean bard
Of whom it is reported
That nightingales sung o'er his tomb,
Whilst lovers came and courted.