Classic Poem

Girl, so beautiful,
And sweet, I dare not love;
Girl, so dutiful,
That my heart will move
With a pure delight,
A tranquil worship, at the sight:

As a dewy rose-leaf falling
Loosely in the summer wind,
Or the twilight fancies calling
Far the buried sun behind,
Or on high a vesper bell
Softly tolling day declining,
In the mountains sounding well
Answer to a heart repining,
Or a sigh of the wind-harp's tongue,
By a silken zephyr rung.

As thy liquid eye
Sent a still reply,
As thy rosy mouth
Painted the warm south,
As the beauty flowed o'er me,
Noble maiden, born with thee,
Only could I wonder long,
For it frame this feeble song.

I might love when passion dances
In the dark, entrancing eye,
Answering to my dim glances,
Answering—I know not why,
But the lovely, simple Child,
Figure holy, spirit mild,
That angelic Rosalie
Without the least thought of me,
I could not love,
For her heart I ne'er might move.

Then I knelt before her beauty,
And I woke from idle longing,
Made it my most chosen duty
To this child to love belonging,
Her to lead in wood and dell,
Where the streams conceal their spell
In the breathless solitude,
And the leaning Silence nods
O'er the old, complacent wood,
Seat of unpretending gods,
And where'er the secret bird
With her melody is heard.

Be the weather cool or warm,
May it soothe her like a charm,
With its blossom spring enfold her,
With blushing flowers summer mould her,
With ripe fruit may autumn bless her,
With brave cheer white winter dress her;
And more, may I
Resist the force of every tie,
And on this spotless errand bent,
With a duty abstinent,
Vow to her the steadfast heart,
Silent tongue and sleepless thought,
Vow to her the spoils of art,
And the gold the mind has brought
From her rivers in the Reason,
To regild the faded season;
Vow them all,
And her my mistress call,
Whom to love were hopeless folly,
Maiden mild, and pure, and holy,
Whom to love ne'er was for me,
But to worship sacredly.