Classic Poem

With the sun's first tiny glimmer
Now the east is growing clearer;
Floating on the vast cloud-ocean
Shine the mountains, vaster, nearer.

Seven-league-boots—ah! if I had them,
O'er the mountain peaks I'd hurry
To the cottage of my darling
With the wind's impetuous scurry.

Softly would I lift the curtains
From the bed where she reposes;
Softly would I kiss her forehead,
Softly kiss her mouth's red roses!

In her ears—like little lilies,
I would still more softly sigh:
“Dream we love each other dearly,
Dream we never said good-bye.”