Classic Poem

We often may see the waters fall,
From slopes where their sound may not be heard;
Or hear from the wood the blackbird's call,
While yet we may not behold the bird;
As things are so sweet in sound, or fair
To meet with our sight, in daylight air.

The head of the tree may catch the light,
While copse wood may hide its stem in gloom;
The house may uphold its roof in sight,
With door hidden back by apple bloom,
For every where, by field and lane,
Things fair are conceal'd by fair again.

I look'd in my love's all-winsome face,
As under the yew she sat a while,
I saw, as she walk'd, her comely pace,
Too far from her path to see her smile;
But every where, in ev'ry way,
She's fair be she found where'er she may.