Classic Poem

I PLAY this sweet prelùde
For the best heart, and queen
Of gentle womanhood,
From here unto Messene;
Of flowers the fairest one;
The star that 's next the sun;
The brightest star of all.
What time I look at her,
My thoughts do crowd and stir
And are made musical.

Sweetest my lady, then
Wilt thou not just permit,
As once I spoke, again
That I should speak of it?
My heart is burning me
Within, though outwardly
I seem so brave and gay.
Ah! dost thou not sometimes
Remember the sweet rhymes
Our lips made on that day?—

When I her heart did move
By kisses and by vows,
Whom I then called my love,
Fair-haired, with silver brows:
She sang there as we sat;
Nor then withheld she aught
Which it were right to give;
But said, ‘Indeed I will
Be thine through good and ill
As long as I may live.’

And while I live, dear love,
In gladness and in need
Myself I will approve
To be thine own indeed.
If any man dare blame
Our loves,—bring him to shame,
O God! and of this year
Let him not see the May.
Is't not a vile thing, say,
To freeze at Midsummer?