Classic Poem

The vespers lie between sparkling lust that stirs in motives' life.
No lance but kindred thought can climb unto its might,
As flawless spirits sing within, that shapes its mystic dite.
Pure harmony, the faith of lyre, must meet and vary in its choir;
Hence the plum with effulgence gently shimmers in its silky wind,
Petted by health o'er its sequestered sire,
That o'er its depth doth flow, ne'er doth tire.
The fawns of taste have left its shore
From Rome to England, bore the phase
That chased veiled beauty's law.
No more shall chant thy verbal lore—
But O thy mind's lofty flight
That greets its nocturne through diurnal light,
Legends of charm that glanced thy path upon our door!