Classic Poem

The glamour flower doth bloom again:
The flower of which the Moon is fain.

Down the long border, in the night,
Glides the Moon-maiden, faintly white.

Under the Yuccas I saw her stand,
Resting a cheek on a slender hand.

The great white blossoms shone and shone:
A moment more—the dream had flown.

O Yucca! Flower of mystery!
How the Moon-maiden loveth thee!

Long, long ago, e'er the world was old,
When the sad Moon felt she was turning cold,

Down to the earth her flower she sent;
Pearl-bloom and tear-drop lustre blent:

And now, when they bloom in the border there,
The Moon-maid floats from her home so bare,

In the lone garden a space to weep
While yearning fancies invest our sleep.

'T is the saddest, the sweetest day o' the year,
For in every cup I have found a tear,—

A tear that smiles with a tender light:
And I know who shed them, yesternight.