Classic Poem

This is the trysting-place; from day to day,
Without so much as willing to be here,
The laughing hours have seen me at thy side,
Because thou art so beautiful and dear.

But this day is the last. To-morrow morn
Back to the city's mournful streets I hie,
There to be cheated by the art of man
Of God's inheritance of air and sky.

But oh! for once thou art too beautiful!
Thy beauty makes it agony to part.
Sea, thou art cruel, so, on this last day,
To try the weakness of thy lover's heart.

To-day, methinks, thou need'st not so have smiled,
Like some proud beauty, full of high disdain;
Oh! hide thy fairness with some misty veil,
And lighten so the burden of my pain.

Nay, do not hearken, for there is no need;
This sudden rush of tears will do as well;
One more last look, and then thy voice shall sound
As sounds, far off, some solemn vesper-bell.

But something of thy freshness in my heart
Will linger still, and permanently bless;
And I shall hear, 'mid things that come and go,
The murmur of thy everlastingness.