Classic Poem

She is beautiful
With happiness invincible:
If cruel she be
It is the hawk's proud innocent cruelty.

At poet's tears,
Sweeter than any smiles but hers,
She laughs; I sigh;
And yet I could not live if she should die.

And when in June
Once more the cuckoo spoils his tune,
She laughs at sighs;
And yet she says she loves me till she dies.