Classic Poem

As yonder lone and lovely star
Hangs o'er the western hills afar,
And, pausing in its downward flight,
Longs lingering for the coming night,
Long I for thee!

The last fond flowers, that loved to fling
Their fragrance on the breath of spring,
And pine beneath the skies of June,
Mourn not so for the waning moon,
As I for thee!

The wild bird fills the vocal grove
With wailings for his absent love;
So every passing breath of air
Must on its buoyant pinions bear
Some sigh for thee!

That lovely star shall wax and wane,
Those flowers shall die to bloom again,
The sweet bird sing his mate to rest,
So shall I yet to this fond breast,
Clasp thee, oh, thee!