Classic Poem

Grace was perfect, fresh, and fair,
Cheerful as a mountain air;
Blithely fearless, glad and free,
Pouting lips, with hazel ee.
O'er her firm-set figure played
Charms to make a saint afraid;
To this magnet strong and sweet
Swift my willing steps must fleet.
Grace was all a paragon —
Oh, she drew me like a sun!

Round about her valley lie
Purple mountains on the sky,
And within her valley's fold
Lakes that set no price in gold,
Tracks that climb the crag and glen,
And a race of frugal men.

Buoyant, wilful, frank, and gay,
Grace ne'er lived a wretched day —
Joy of parents, loved by all,
Warmed and cheered her father's hall.

Years of sadness now thrown over,
Once again was I a lover;
Laughed again the lake's low shore,
Laughed the hilltops ten times more,
And the birches in the wood
Fluttered midst the solitude.
" Grace was lovely, Grace was fine —
Could not Grace, dear Grace, be mine? "

Many times around my light,
Darting at the centre bright,
Have I viewed a wretched moth
Singe his feather, by my troth.
I had wept and I had loved —
Frail and fatal all it proved;
Might have known it ne'er could be —
Might have guessed she hated me!

Girl of Life's determined hours,
Clad in glory as the flowers,
Virginal as Venus came
From the sea at Morning's flame,
All a sunny, fond surprise,
With her wealth of hazel eyes —
She was not, if I was, poor, —
Parents prudent, — life in store, —
Could I sing her virtues more?

Grace had beauty, Grace had truth —
Well I loved her in my youth!
And she taught me a fine word —
This (I might have elsewhere heard):
That not all I wish is mine —
What I have should seem divine.