Classic Poem

At Rosehedge by the Linden's fountain clear
My songs have often set the vale a-ringing;
They hoped, l' faith, the Echo's voice to hear:
Speak, Echo, hast thou trembled at my singing?
Foreboding guessed to whom my words belong?
Long! Long!

Then thou hast guessed my words were meant for thee,
And thou hast shared my sorrow and my pleasure?
At times when I have wept despairingly
Thou too hast sighed, despaired, and wept in measure?
Anon hast hoped, when hope my grief did soften?
Often! Often!

Thou knowest too the weary nameless longing, —
The conflict in the agitated heart, —
The jubilee of joy, — the salt tears' thronging, —
The passion-nourished pain, — desires that smart, —
The honeydew of hope, — despair's black gall?
All! All!

Ah, well! to build a home for thee I'm going,
Be true, as I am ever; think of me.
The three bright stars in yonder heaven glowing
I trust: they true love's radiant watchers be.
And wilt thou also trust them when we sever?
Ever! Ever!

Then fare-thee-well, thou soul of all my rhyming,
For no long time must thou in silence dwell.
My voice shall soon again awake thy chiming,
And loudly each to other we shall tell
What, tho' unsaid, I'd hear the while of thee —
I love thee! I love thee!