Classic Poem

Half-veiled above the hills, yet rosy bright,
Stands fresh, and fair, the meek and blushing morn!
So Yillah looks! her pensive eyes the stars,
That mildly beam from out her cheek's young dawn!
But the still meek Dawn,
Is not aye the form
Of Yillah nor Morn!
Soon rises the sun,
Day's race to run:
His rays abroad,
Flash each a sword, —
And merrily forth they flare!
Sun-music in the air!
So Yillah now rises and flashes!
Rays shooting from out her long lashes, —
Sun-music in the air!
Her laugh! How it bounds!
Bright cascade of sounds!
Peal after peal, and ringing afar, —
Ringing of waters, that silvery jar,
From basin to basin fast falling!
Fast falling, and shining, and streaming: —
Yillah's bosom, the soft, heaving lake,
Where her laughs at last dimple, and flake!

Oh, beautiful Yillah! Thy step so free! —
Fast fly the sea-ripples,
Revealing their dimples,
When forth, thou hi'st to the forlicsome sea!

All the stars laugh,
When upward she looks:
All the trees chat
In their woody nooks:
All the brooks sing;
All the caves ring;
All the buds blossom;
All the boughs bound;
All the birds carol;
And leaves turn round,
Where Yillah looks!

Light wells from her soul's deep sun
Causing many toward her to run!
Vines to climb, and flowers to spring;
And youths their love by hundred's bring!