Classic Poem

I Thought of Laura in that green recess
Where Petrarch took her beauty to his heart;
And though Love never maimed me, his smart
I felt as mine, nor did I wish it less.
I looked on my fond Fair in vacantness —
And nothing noted those blue veins which part
(Like branches of a stream in some fair chart)
On her white, waxen brow, by a loose tress
And her supporting hand snowily hid;
Nor her small lips, which now breathed rosy sighs,
Now honeyed lines; nor her calm, clear blue eyes,
Shut in like jewels by her golden lid: —
My thoughts were wandering like a winding stream,
Yet she was still the theme and passion of my dream.