Classic Poem

Under the hemlocks Fancy came
And took me in her tender arms;
She sang her sweetest, calmest lays,
And wrapped my spirit soft in balms.
Her chaste aerial form was clad
In shining vestments, and her tread
Was still as snowflake music; e'en
The lily did not bow her head.

Her eyes with misty splendor gleamed,
Shining like fountains in the sun;
She comes, — a breath of music sweet,
To tune my life to unison.
Beneath the hemlocks folded close
In Fancy's tender arms, I lie,
And drifting, dream enchanted dreams,
While soft the river murmurs by.