Classic Poem

Fair as the beauteous morning's golden beam
That glowing steals o'er dewy perfum'd flowers;
You come and linger in sad fancy's dream,
And happy pain beguiles the tortur'd hours,
I think you present—then my heart is glad;
I know you absent—then I fain would fly
To where you are—but must not—so I'm sad—
And rapture dies; my soothest song's a sigh.

The chains of love are round me; I must love;
I cannot if I would, I would not free
Myself from his delightful slavery.
Affection rears a prison round, above
My thought, and on the boundless, trackless sea,
Thy bondsman still, I'd still be thrall to thee.