Classic Poem

To “Sister May” whose grace commands
Tribute from tried and loving hands,
I, timid, but as earnest, pray
That she yet one remembrance lay
With those she guards in jealous hands!

Thrice fortunate, that one who stands,
Though late, upon those golden sands
Where light and sweetness find their way
To “Sister May”!

And, though the curse of Fortune brands
As brief his hour along that strand's
Music-resounding, sheltered bay,
Yet shall he dare, in future day,
Speed a friend's thought from distant lands
To “Sister May”!