Classic Poem

Fylgia, Fylgia, do not flee!
When I'm all on fire to enfold you.
Timid one, exquisite, shun not me!
Though with stupid thoughts I behold you, —
You whose form is so pure it seems
To hover in beauty and starry beams,
Till it melts in the light
Before my sight;
As near me it flies,
Yet far
As the distant, distant skies, —
Unapproachable, coveted one that you are,
Maiden of longed-for loveliness,
Spirit attired in the silvery sheen of life's most ethereal dress,
Whose happy cheek is aglow with love's pinkest wild-rose caress!
Fylgia, Fylgia, do not flee!
Timid one, exquisite, shun not me!
My longed-for loveliness,
You that in nightly visions bless
With consolation for the day's distress!