Classic Poem

Last night in blue my little love was dressed;
And as she walked the room in maiden grace
I looked into her fair and smiling face,
And said that blue became my darling best.
But when, next morn, a spotless virgin vest
And robe of white did the blue one displace,
She seemed a pearl-tinged cloud, and I was—space!
She filled my soul as cloud-shapes fill the West.
And so it is that, changing day by day,—
Changing her robe, but not her loveliness,—
Whether the gown be blue, or white, or gray,
I deem that one her most becoming dress.
The truth is this: In any robe or way,
I love her just the same, and cannot love her less!