Classic Poem

Sweet is the woodbine's fragrant twine;
Sweet the ripe burthen of the vine;
The pea-bloom sweet, that scents the air,
The rose-bud sweet, beyond compare;
The perfume sweet of yonder grove;
Sweeter the lip of Her I love!

Soft the rich meadow's velvet green,
Where cowslip-tufts are early seen;
Soft the young cygnet's snowey breast;
Or down that lines the linnet's nest;
Soft the smooth plumage of the dove;
Softer the breast of Her I love!

Bright is the star that opes the day;
Bright the mid-noon's refulgent ray;
Bright on yon hill the sunny beam;
Bright the blue mirror of the stream;
Bright the gay-twinkling fires above;
Brighter the eye of Her I love!

To match one grace, with idle pain,
Thro' Nature's stores I search in vain,
All that is bright, and soft, and sweet,
Does in her form concenter'd, meet;
Then, Muse! how weak thy pow'r must prove
To paint the charms of Her I love!