Classic Poem

Oft — too often — in the stilly
Night when Luna brightly beams,
Images of you, Miss Lillie,
Crowd my not unpleasant dreams.
You I see across the spacious
Meadows of a lovely land;
You approaching, not ungracious,
Take mine unreluctant hand.

Fade the Pleiads and Orion;
Rises Phoebus, gold and red,
As I dream of you and lie on
Mine unostentatious bed.
As I wake and call the cook, like
One who craves his coffee hot,
I remember what you look like
Utterly and wholly not.

Dark your hair, I think, and sweet your
Face, but when I try to limn
Accurately every feature,
Recollection's fond but dim.
So if I'm not to forget you
(As I do with more than half)
Beatrice, though I've hardly met you,
Send along a photograph.