Classic Poem

I am weary for the present
Of brunettes! This year I swear
Once again by eyes of azure,
Once again by golden hair.

She is blond, the maid I worship,
She is pious, mild—would stand
Fair as any holy picture,
With a lily in her hand.

And her form is slim and dreamy—
Little flesh, abundant soul;
All her spirit-fires burn upward,
Faith and hope and love their goal.

And she says she knows of German,
(Though I doubt it), not a line;
“Have you never read the poem
Of our Klopstock, so divine?”