Classic Poem

" H IPPOLITOS . "

To thee this wreathed garland from a green
And virgin meadow bear I, O my Queen,
Where never shepherd leads his grazing ewes
Nor scythe has toucht. Only the river dews
Gleam, and the spring bee sings, and in the glade
Hath Solitude her mystic garden made.
No evil hand may cull it: only he
Whose heart hath known the heart of Purity,
Unlearned of man, and true whate'er befall.
Take therefore from pure hands this coronal,
O Mistress loved, thy golden hair to twine.
For sole of living men, this grace is mine,
To dwell with thee and speak and hear replies
Of voice divine, tho none may see thine eyes.
So be it; and may death find me still the same!