Classic Poem

I HAVE come from the green isles far away,
Where the skies are bright and the soft winds play;
Where I fold my wings 'neath the olive shade,
And look upon flowers that never fade.

Yet I often to other climes repair,
And sleep on the breast of the rose-bud fair;
I stamp the rich glow on its dewy lip,
And give it the fragrance you love to sip.

But when from the north comes the chilly blast,
Which reminds me that summer days are past;
When a snowy mantle is spread o'er the plain,
I turn to my own verdant isles again.

Thou knowest me not — yet when thou hast slept,
I've long o'er thy slumbers a vigil kept;
Thou hast felt on thy cheek the young zephyr's sigh,
But its perfume was sent by a spirit nigh.

The flowers have gone — I have tarried to say
That for thee they bloomed through their short-lived day;
And they spoke to thee on the breath of even,
Of the Amaranth flowers in the starry Heaven.