Classic Poem

In vain the morn,
In purple born,
Proclaims a day
For Love's sweet sway;
In thoughts of thee
The hours will flee,
But I must grieve
'Till silent eve.

The morning flies,
But leaves the skies
Its golden hue,
And cloudless blue;
Love riseth late,
For him I wait,
But I must grieve
'Till silent eve.

Come, happy night,
With quicker flight;
The sweet hour lead
With lightning speed;
Day doth appear
A long, long year,
When one must grieve
'Till silent eve.

On field and wall
The shadows fall,
And labours close
In sweet repose.
Oh! joy!—I hear
His footstep near;
No more I grieve
For silent eve.