Classic Poem

The man she loves; and all he means to her
Is what a woman's world is; in her way
Of living and of loving day by day
Sometimes her dreaming eyes will fill and blur
And memories of him will come to stir
Her heart-strings; as a blossom's self might sway
When through the scented, flowery paths of May
Drift down the echoes of the winds that were.

The little things are what she treasures most;
Sweet, subtle courtesies of hand and speech,
For these the lover's attitude still teach
Better than costly gift or idle boast;
As one who reckons, not without his host,
Holding her near and dear, yet out of reach.