Classic Poem

When I am lying pillowed
With darkness round and above,
There hovers o'er me a gracious
Exquisite image of love.

And scarce does silent slumber
Upon mine eyelids light,
When the image comes gently stealing
In the first sweet dream of night.

Nor with the breath of morning
Will the image pass away;
In my heart I bear it with me
Through all the livelong day.