Classic Poem

There beat a young heart which had never known love,
'T was as fresh as the bloom of the red summer rose,
Till the merry God smiled from the regions above,
And launched a bright arrow, that broke its repose.

He launched a bright arrow, that broke its repose.
When the fairy-like maiden was smiling in sleep;
The wound was a-bleeding, when just as love rose,
Old Time chanced along on his pinions to sweep:

Old Time chanced along on his pinions to sweep,
And on the new wound that the arrow had made,
As he passed without stopping (his crop was to reap),
All softly and gently his finger he laid —

All softly and gently his finger he laid,
Then noiselessly glided away from the spot,
And careless, and gladsome, as e'er was the maid,
Love's dream, and the wound, and the arrow, forgot.