Classic Poem

The year has come, the year has gone again,
And still no tidings of mine absent love :
Through the long days of spring all heaven above
And earth beneath re-echo with my pain.

In dark cocoon my mother's silkworms dwell;
Like them, a captive, through the livelong day
Alone I sit and sigh my soul away,
For ne'er to any I my love may tell.

Like to the pine -trees I must stand and pine,
While downward slanting fall the shades of night,
Till my long sleeve of purest snowy white
With showers of tears is steeped in bitter brine.