Classic Poem

Your eyebrows are indistinct,
But your eyes are the kindliest gray;
They are wells of fire and dew,
The marriage of April and May,
Laughter and tears interlinked.

Your brow is lowly and true;
Your hair is dusky and gold;
Your lips are curved and red,
And soft and warm, and they fold
A flock of the pearliest hue.

When passion had made you its bed—
A flame waking up in a lamp—
Through the mist of the world like a far light,
You beaconed me forth from the damp,
Dark life, where I lay as one dead.

Of all heavenly creatures that are bright,
Your spirit's the noblest and purest;
And your voice, which is love sublimed,
Is the slowest to speak but the surest,
And as piercing and soft as the starlight;
And that last's the rhyme you wish rhymed.