Classic Poem

The blind man to the maiden said:
" O thou of hearts the truest,
Thy countenance is hid from me;
Let not my questions anger thee!
Speak, though in words the fewest!

" Tell me what kind of eyes are thine?
Dark eyes, or light ones rather?"
" My eyes are a decided brown
So much, at least — by looking down —
From the brook's glass I gather."

" And is it red — thy little mouth?
That too the blind must care for!"
" Ah, I would tell that soon to thee,
Only — none yet has told it me.
I cannot answer, therefore!

" But dost thou ask what heart I have
There hesitate I never!
In thine own breast 'tis borne, and so
'Tis thine in weal and thine in woe
For life, for death, — thine ever!"