Classic Poem

Why, from the far-away,
Did you send such a waif to me,
You seer with the long-reaching eyes,
You soul with the mage's vision?
Oh, on a lavish day,
My dream went out to grope,
Blind, on the hills of Hope,
And there, by a fond misprision,
The waif of your spirit found her,
Kissed her, clasped her, and bound her,
Your captive dream to be.

On an Indian-summer day
When Joy, before she dies,
Pants with a wild death-passion,
My songs from the hills arise
To greet you in lover's fashion.
O Captor that art not free,
Bound by a dream's control,
Do you miss your straying soul,
You body so far away?