Classic Poem

A FAIRY dream that stole,
With evanescent light,
Across thy waken'd soul,
One early Autumn night—
Am I not this to thee?

A lone and languid rose
That in thy care might bloom,
But on the distance throws,
Vainly, its vague perfume—
Am I not this to thee?

A faint and trembling star
That drew thine eyes awhile,
Still shining on afar,
Deserted by thy smile—
Am I not this to thee?

A pearl cast at thy feet
And worn by thee an hour,
Then left where fierce waves beat,
The plaything of their power—
Am I not this to thee?

A half-remember'd strain,
That once could charm thine ear,
Whose music thou again
Wilt sometimes sigh to hear—
Am I not this to thee?