Classic Poem

First time we met I saw her not: 't was night;
But fancy read her lovely spirit right:
Soft as the dark her voice
That made my lonely heart rejoice.

When next we met, or ere I heard her speak
My fancy fared afar her like to seek:
Where had I seen that face—
In Reynolds' or in Romney's grace?

And when she spoke—most like a morning child
Waking to wonder—how her spirit smiled!
Then voice and face were one:
Music and Art in unison.