Classic Poem

Come to me, maiden fair,
Maiden with golden hair,
Now that the vesper air
Trembles no more with prayer!

Come where the Zingaree,
Under the linden tree,
Spurring his comrades three,
Pipes a wild jubilee!

Come, while their tabor's beat
Urges the dancers fleet;
Come, let thy tiny feet
Mine on the meadow meet!

Bounding we gaily start;
Flashes thy blue eyes dart:
Spare thou my captive heart;
Or—let us never part!

Strains gently sighing in the air, love,
Wake echoes in our hearts so near, love!
I pant with thy sighs,
And see with thine eyes.
Swayed by the magic waltz, love,
Ne'er to its measure false, love,
One hand in thine,
One holds thee mine,
Mine, while fills the glade the whirling dance,
With visions bright
That dazzle sight;
Mine, while clasped we float, as in a trance,
On pinions bright
This sparkling night

Rarest diamonds of the mine, love,
Pale beside those eyes of thine, love;
But ere I thy hand resign,
Take, oh, take this heart of mine.
Dying, sleeps in death the strain;
Sinks my soul in gloom and pain
Till that waltz shall wake again,
Thou and I, sweet girl, are twain.