Classic Poem

Harebell , of the untrod dell —
Heaven's own vintage in a cup,
Blue-eyed, smiling, you look up,
To catch the warm and quiv'ring bliss
Of the cavalier sunbeams' golden kiss —
Kiss with a hungry, eager sip
Of the wine upon your azure lip.
Drunk with the draught, they dance the breeze,
Spattering gold beneath the trees;
Ringing their round in the ancient grove,
They tell the breezes of their love;
But the breezes flout their least caress,
And their feet the daisies bend and press,
As they rush o'er the fields, o'er the sea's blue waves,
To their father's chill and gusty caves,
To hide flushed faces in his beard.
Laughter gales rise — he has heard
Of the sunbeams' love. " They will not grieve.
Their love but lasts from dawn to eve.
Hearts cool at eve as at dawn they swell.
They were mad with the wine of the fair harebell. "
Swaying with laughter in the dell.