Classic Poem

Last night, last night, a vision of you
Sweetly troubled my waking dream:
Beneath the clear Algerian blue
You stood with lifted eyes: the beam
Of a winter sun beat on the crown
Of a lemon-tree whose delicate fruit
Like pale lamps hung airily down;
And in your gazing eyes a mute
And lovely wonder. . . . Have I sung
Of slender things and naught beside?
You were so beautifully young
I must have kissed you or have died.