Classic Poem

( " Mon bras pressait. " )

My arm pressed gently thy form, slight
And supple as the slender reed;
Thy sweet heart quivered, even as might
A bird's wing freed.

A long while silent, we beheld
The day from heaven softly move.
What then our trembling souls fulfilled?
Love! O our love!

Even as an angel that grows bright
And brighter, thou didst gaze on me,
Till thy star-look shone 'mid my night
Too sweet to see.