Classic Poem

There's a murmur of waves on the lonely strand,
The moon o'er the deep has risen;
The warrior rests on the white sea sand,
His dreams are a radiant prison.

The lovely nymphs in their filmy dress
Mount up from the waters under;
They fancy the youth is asleep, and press
Around him with stealthy wonder.

A marvelling finger the first one laid
On the plumes he wore in his bonnet;
With his woven armour another played,
And the bandolier upon it.

With gleaming eyes then laughed the third,
As she snatched from the sheath its treasure;
She leaned upon the naked sword,
And smiled on the knight for pleasure.

The fourth drew near with a merry dance,
And yearned till the words welled over:
" Fair mortal flower, sweet the chance
If thou hadst been my lover! "

The hand of the knight the fifth held fast,
And kissed it long and dumbly.
The sixth was coy, but she kissed at last
His mouth and his cheeks so comely.

To the wily knight it seemed far from wise
To wake, that the joy should miss him;
So motionless under the moon he lies,
As long as they care to kiss him.