Classic Poem

Gentle maiden! whom sixteen
 Summers drape with statelier grace
Than thy mirror's placid sheen
 Held when first I saw thy face;
Thou art now as one awaiting
 To be ferried o'er the stream,
Ever narrowing and abating,
 That divides thee from thy dream;

Waiting till some glorious morn
 That young ferryman appears,
At the notes of whose sweet horn
 Hopes and blushes come with fears;
Then his shallop he unmooring,
 Arrow-like shall speed to thee,
And thy foot scarce touch the flooring
 Ere he whispers, “Come with me!”

“Not across the shrinking river,
 But adown its channel mid
To the island where forever,
 Nestling as the doves lie hid,
I may tell thee how I love thee,
 While thou answerest, Love me more ,
Till my tenderness shall prove thee
 Wisely to have left the shore.”