Classic Poem

Here the air is sweet,
Fresh from the roses newly blowing;
Here the waters meet,
Down the grassy valley flowing;
Here the bands of ivy twine,
Here the bells in yellow shine
On the flowering gelsemine,
Round the woven trellis growing.

Here the flitting breeze
Wafts afar the musky treasure,
And the wanton bees
Sip the honeyed fount of pleasure;
Here the loving spirits dwell,
Here they sit, and weave their spell,
And within the blossom's bell
Tune their soul-dissolving measure.

Here the wind is balm,
Laden with the breath of roses;
Here the air is calm,
And the sleeping noon-flower closes;
Now the sun is setting bright,
And his arch of purple light
Heralding the summer night,
Earth in dreams of bliss reposes.

Here 's a magic bower:
O'er it budding vines are creeping,
And a dewy shower,
By, a bank of turf is steeping;
Though the fallen winds are mute,
Faintly from the sweet-blown flute,
Tones, that with the stillness suit,
Harmonies of love are keeping.

I am here alone:
Far has fled my flowery dreaming,
All its beauty flown
Like a bow by moonlight gleaming;
Fancy's day of love is o'er,
All its rich and golden store
Ne'er can charm my spirit more
With its false, but fairy seeming.