Classic Poem

O mirror, whence her lovely face
Was wont to look with radiance sweet,
Hast thou not kept of her some trace,
Some memory that thou mayest repeat?

Could I but find in thee once more
Some token of her presence dear!
O mirror, wilt thou not restore
Her shadow for an instant here?

Thou couldst not yield a boon so great.
I see my own dim face and eyes
With love and longing desolate,
All drowned in wistful memories.

Blindly for her dear hand I grope;
There's nothing life can have in store
So sweet to me as this sweet hope,
To feel her smile on me once more!