Classic Poem

Good night, True Heart! If we could part
'Twere night indeed. But go
Not yet, not yet, lest we forget
The saint's punctilio.

If my earliest sight by the morrow light
Be the pearl of thy tender face,
Saint Valentine will assure thee mine
For another twelve moons' space.

How else, mine All? When these eyelids fall,
They fold thy beauty in;
And when the light calls home my sprite,
And the mists of dreamland thin,

I awake to thee, though land and sea,
Ay, though the skies debar,
I awake to the grace of thy visioned face,
My changeless morning-star.