Classic Poem

A FORM of sweet simplicity, whose hand
Shades her young eyes from the meridian blaze,
As if she bent her fixed and longing gaze
O'er gleaming seas, or o'er the glowing land.
She seems to sit upon a sunny strand,
To mark some coming ship, too long away;
Or from some green hill-side she sees a band
Of merry rustics 'mid the odorous hay.
Strange fancies, and yet pleasant, for her mien
Suggesteth Summer in her noontide hours,
Rich lands, bright waters, and umbrageous bowers,
Young love, and maiden innocence serene.
Praise to the sculptor, whose poetic thought
Conceived this shape of grace, so delicately wrought.