Classic Poem

I have slept upon my couch
But my spirit did not rest,
For the labours of the day
Yet my weary soul opprest.

And before my dreaming eyes
Still the learned volumes lay,
And I could not close their leaves
And I could not turn away

While the grim preceptors laughed
And exulted in my woe:
Till I felt my tingling frame
With the fire of anger glow

But I oped my eyes at last,
And I heard a muffled sound,
'Twas the night breeze come to say
That the snow was on the ground.

Then I knew that there was rest
On the mountain's bosom free;
So I left my fevered couch
And I flew to waken thee

I have flown to waken thee
For if thou wilt not arise,
Then my soul can drink no peace
From these holy moonlight skies.

And this waste of virgin snow
To my sight will not be fair
Unless thou wilt smiling come,
Love, to wander with me there.

Then awake! Maria, wake!
For if thou couldst only know
How the quiet moonlight sleeps
On this wilderness of snow

And the groves of ancient trees
In their snowy garb arrayed,
Till they stretch into the gloom
Of the distant valley's shade.

O, I know thou wouldst rejoice
To inhale this bracing air,
Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep
To behold a scene so fair.

O'er those wintry wilds alone
Thou wouldst joy to wander free,
And it will not please thee less
Though that bliss be shared with me