Classic Poem

Come hither, thou beautiful rover,
Thou wanderer of earth and of air;
Who bearest the sighs of the lover,
And bringest him news of his fair:
Bend hither thy light-waving pinion,
And show me the gloss of thy neck;
O, perch on my hand, dearest minion,
And turn up thy bright eye, and peck.

Here is bread, of the whitest and sweetest,
And there is a sip of red wine;
Though thy wing is the lightest and fleetest,
'T will be fleeter when nerved by the vine:
I have written, on rose-scented paper,
With thy wing-quill, a soft billet-doux,
I have melted the wax in love's taper,
'T is the color of true hearts, sky-blue.

I have fastened it under thy pinion,
With a blue ribbon round thy soft neck;
So go from me, beautiful minion,
While the pure ether shows not a speck.
Like a cloud in the dim distance fleeting,
Like an arrow, he hurries away:
And farther and farther retreating,
He is lost in the clear blue of day.