Classic Poem

Lady , in vain I task my simple muse
To find the utterance Love is fain to seek,
She only knows the language others use,
The common words false lips too often speak,
These lack the fire and fervor to reveal,
The fond affection Death alone can seal.

Thou art my soul's ideal, pure and good,
In mind and heart, in bearing, speech and mein;
A perfect type of noble womanhood—
Kind as an angel, royal as a queen,
Dispensing blessings, free as sun and air,
To lighten burdens weaker ones must bear.

Earnest in effort, prompt at duty's call,
Forgetting self in giving others aid;
With tender sympathy for great and small,
On whom affliction's heavy hand is laid,
Adding to life a beauty and a grace;
Making the world a brighter, better place.

So, thou hast won my love, nor is it strange,
Since, by the cottage hearth and palace hall,
I have met many women, in life's range,
But, never found thy peer, among them all;
Thanks be to Him, by whom our ways are set,
That, in His Providence, our paths have met.

If I had power to weave a subtle charm
To ward thee from all weariness and care,
To keep thee and thy loved ones free from harm,
And make thy future pathway bright and fair,
No tear should ever dim thy tender eyes,
No shadow darken in thy summer skies.

No gall should mingle in thy wine of life;
No touch of time bedim thy sunny brow,
Long years should come and go, with gladness rife,
And leave thee, fresh and fair, as thou art now,
The center of a happy household band,
Queen of the fairest home in all the land.

The world, so full of trouble, loss and stain,
Uncertain shadows, unavailing fears,

Where Hope is false, and Love begirt by pain,
And every human path bedewed with tears,
Should be to thee as lovely, as sublime,
As Eden, in the morning hours of time.

I pray thee, do not deem as idle praise
This honest tribute of a loving heart;
I crave no pardon for my homely lays,
Save that they do not paint thee as thou art—
Gentle, impassioned, tender, warm and sweet—
Alas, I find the picture incomplete.

It lacks the finer tints, the nameless grace,
The dainty lights and shades, that come and go
Like fitful sunshine o'er thy gentle face,
As gracious tides of feeling ebb and flow.
Far better, Lady, could my muse express,
The tout ensemble of thy loveliness,
If, in my heart of hearts, I loved thee less.