Classic Poem

From a poverty-shadowed life
In the night of my lone distress
I sing unto you, my hoped-for wife,
My treasure of queenliness.
I paint in my hours of dreaming
With flying brush, till the lines
Of your haloed features are gleaming
On a background of shadowy pines.

With pink of the cranberry bright
Your wistful mouth I 've expressed,
With soft mosses red and white
Have hinted your throat and breast.
From birch-leaves in autumn turning
I caught the right gold for your hair,
But your smile has a touch of yearning
I never could capture there.

You dwell in a splendor of light,
You float as on music of strings,
But you love the sigh of the wood's deep night
And the song that the wild thicket sings.
From empty display that o'erpowers,
From pleasures that cloy without cease,
You long for the grasses, the flowers,
For silence, oblivion, and peace.

When your will is on fire some day
And doubt may no more restrain,
You'll come of yourself on the fateful way
You ne'er can retrace again.
I sing, I exult at the meeting,
My glad heart leaps on its throne;
We melt at the passionate greeting
For all of our lives into one.

From a poverty-shadowed life
In the night of my lone distress
I proudly cry: “Would you be my wife,
Then count not the more and less!”
Your beauty in that sweet hour
Will richly adorn our nest,
For happiness is your dower,
Your morning-gift is rest.