Classic Poem

I have marked, as on the heather now I strayed,
Fresh-springing sweetly-fashioned violets,
And bolder flowers in flaunting red arrayed;
And this is why the nightingale forgets
The stubborn woe that all the winter long
Weighed on her heart the cheerless trees among.
I have heard her song.

My heart's heaviness, soon as the burgeons burst
Like to a carried burden I laid by:
For the lady for whose love I was athirst
Filled such a chalice for my lips that I,
Revived, the lightsome mood of nature share;
And all that she shall do to me I swear
Is good and fair.

She sundered sorrow from my soul that smiles
Like these pure skies whence all the clouds are flown;
Yet not a thousand women with their wiles
Could have achieved it: my true love alone
Routed the cares that surged by day and night:
So I have chosen her my life's delight
In the world's despite.

My portion shall be rapture without end:
I wot I have no need to nurse alarms;
And, if it come to pass as I intend,
She yet shall lie in secret in my arms.
I shall, when my embraces hold her fast,
Believe that I to Paradise have passed.
If dreams would last!

There are among our friends who love me not
That in my happy face my joy I show:
Their venomed glances are as arrows shot
Beyond the mark: I heed nor friend nor foe.
What profit all the pitfalls they devise?
That love is ripening while they surmise
Escapes their eyes!