Classic Poem

Once, in those unforgotten hours,
When life was fresh, and fair, and new —
And all its buds and all its flowers
Hung drooping with the early dew;
Before on feeling fell a blight,
Or any rose of thought could fade —
My lover came one starry night,
And woke me with a Serenade.

The music o'er my senses stole,
And, sweetly mingling with my dream,
Transported my imprisoned soul
To bliss, on its melodious stream.
I never shall forget the song,
Or the sweet tune the dear one played,
As the soft night-wind bore along
The verses of that Serenade.

He sung of love — of constant love —
Of his devotion, pure and deep;
And called the brightest star above
To sentinel my happy sleep.
At first I listened doubtingly —
My heart was of its joy afraid;
Till through the gloom I saw 'twas he
Who sung to me that Serenade.

Long years have vanished since I heard
His song, and Time has sadly flown;
Yet I have treasured every word,
And pondered every melting tone
Of that dear voice. He wandered far,
And to a distant region strayed,
Where, guided by some lovelier star,
Perchance he sings that Serenade.

The bloom has faded from my cheek —
My life, alas! has lost its smile;
With other songs I vainly seek
My spirit's sadness to beguile;
For how can I be happy more,
Thus in my fondest hopes betrayed!
Can any charm in life restore
That sweet and simple Serenade?

When Midnight, from her ebon throne,
Flings over Earth a brilliant veil,
The pure, and deep, and thrilling tone
Floats faintly on the gentle gale;
And sometimes when the dawn is near,
And sometimes through the evening's shade,
Too faithful Memory bids me hear
The music of his Serenade.