Classic Poem

When and how shall I earliest meet her?
—What are the words she first will say?
By what name shall I learn to greet her?
—I know not now; it will come some day!
With the selfsame sunlight shining upon her,
—Shining down on her ringlets' sheen,
She is standing somewhere—she I shall honor
—She that I wait for, my queen, my queen!

Whether her hair be golden or raven,
—Whether her eyes be hazel or blue,
I know not now; but 'twill be engraven
—Some day hence as my loveliest hue.
Many a girl I have loved for a minute,
—Worshipped many a face I have seen:
Ever and aye there was something in it,
—Something that could not be hers, my queen!

I will not dream of her tall and stately,
—She that I love may be fairy light;
I will not say she must move sedately,—
—Whatever she does it will then be right.
She may be humble or proud, my lady,
—Or that sweet calm which is just between;
And whenever she comes she will find me ready
—To do her homage, my queen, my queen!

But she must be courteous, she must be holy,
—Pure in her spirit, this maiden I love;
Whether her birth be noble or lowly
—I care no more than the spirits above.
But I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping,
—And ever her strength on mine shall lean;
And the stars may fall, and the saints be weeping
—Ere I cease to love her, my queen, my queen!