Classic Poem

Thy smile, sweet sister, on my lay,
Is as the stars, I ween,
That brightens o'er this brilliant's ray,
Which, else, no light had seen!
That kindles o'er some brooklet's way,
Where, else, no song had been!

If aught of summer worth it brings
In bloom or melodies,
'Tis little for the lyric wings
Thy radiance taught to rise,
But little for a bird that sings
So near his Paradise.

By Hope in many a broken home,
And by the tears that shed
The proudest splendor of the tomb
Above the humblest head,
This song but asks thy soul's perfume
To crown our quick and dead.