Classic Poem

Bright are thine eyes, my pretty little maid,
As diamonds sunk in jet;
Brown is thy cheek, as shadows in the glade
By eve for lovers set.

Lissom and smooth thy fairy-moulded shape
Which gossamer muslins press,
As clouds around the Jungfrau's summit drape
Her snows with mute caress.

Sometimes a thrill shoots through the sweet repose
In which thou art enchained,
And like the flush of summer-lightning glows
Thy cheek with azure veined.

Say! dost thou then a song of spirits hear,
Inaudible to me?
Or, on his throne in dreamland's moonlit sphere,
Thy young heart's monarch see?

Say! if the black braids of the silken hair
In which thy face is noosed,
Are but a witchingly-deviséd snare
To pinion souls seduced?

For—that thy fawn eyes bait no ambuscade
Could I but fondly trust—
I'd kneel so low to thee, O pretty maid,
My brow should kiss the dust!