Classic Poem

Was it a dream? Could God create
Of flesh and blood a thing so fair,
With eyes so ignorant of care,
With brow so whitely delicate?
No dream I wot; and yet I swear.
There seemed more soul than body there;
And mouth, and eyes, and hands, and hair
Seemed, in a spiritual state,
Immortal and immaculate.

No dream; and yet my waking sight
Saw never such pellucid eyes
So filled with peace of Paradise,
So lavish of a holy light.
No dream; and yet my spirit sighs,
And I would fain idealise
Thy loving glance, thy low replies,
And keep thy hand and forehead white
As holy dreams for day and night.

I fear lest time or toil should mar—
I fear lest passion should debase
The delicacy of thy grace.
Depart, and I will throne thee far,
Will hide thee in a halcyon place
That hath an angel populace;
And ever in dreams will find thy face,
Where all things pure and perfect are,
Smiling upon me like a star.