Classic Poem

There haunts my brain a wondrous pretty lay,
And in the lay a pretty song is ringing,
And in the song is living, blooming, springing,
A maiden, young and lovely as a fay:
And in this maid a little heart doth stay,
But in that heart no glow of love you find:
Into that loveless, frost-encircled mind
Nothing but pride and scorn can find their way.
Dost hear, how in my head the lay is ringing?
And how the song rings out so stern and sad?
And how the maid's low laugh its burden bears?
My head I fear will soon in twain be springing—
Oh horror! for I fear I may go mad—
My reason totters with these unknown fears.