Classic Poem

I saw a flower of softest hue
Within a lonely vale,
Around its head serenely blew
The evening's dewy gale;
The gem was sparkling in its bell,
'T was like the mourner's tear,
And like the dirge of sorrow fell
The zephyr on my ear.

The scene that bloomed around was calm,
The sky was softly blue,
The zephyr breathed its sweetest balm,
And gently fell the dew;
At that mild hour, when lovers lie
Beneath the maple shade,
This modest floweret met my eye,
This beauty of the glade.

With careful, trembling hand, I raised
The floweret from its bed,
And on its weeping beauties gazed,
And kissed its balmy head;
Then laid it gently on my heart,
And pressed the treasure there,
And whispered, “We will never part,
Thou fairest of the fair!

“Though pale the tints, that deck thy leaf
Upon its ground of snow,
Thy dew-drops like the tear of grief,
That gems the eye of woe,—
Though thou recall'st the dying bed,
Where mourners weep sincere,
The chamber where the pall is spread,
And dirges soothe the ear,—

“For this, sweet flower, I love thee more
Within the lonely vale,
When bending o'er the riv'let's shore,
I list the turtle's wail:
For round thy unobtrusive form
Soft-breathing odors dwell,
Beauties that like enchantment warm,
And calm the bosom's swell.”