Classic Poem

The sighs of summer night, were sweet without,
As the breath of spirits, on the folded roses,
The sweet moon, like a young and timid bride,
Came softly trembling through the eastward oaks--
Where I espied a Glorious Beauty standing,
Glowing and bright, in a portico vine-wreathed.
Shaken by wrestling Hope and Doubt within,
I quickly slid unto her side; and she
Wore no dark frown--but smiled--she smiled on me!
Her white brows shone amid her darkest hair,
Like that moon's beams amid the opening gloom:
And her slight, delicate shape would shame the limbs
Of fairies tripping on the moonlit green.
And she did smile on me--that Glorious Beauty!
And I stood there, and clasped her lily hands!
And I did peer into her lustrous eyes!
And they gave back my ardent gaze of love!
She spake--the tremulous accents of her voice
Was like a sweet stream breaking upon rocks;
And when the music of those thrilling words,
Rushed on my soul--I sank upon her bosom,
And felt that we could part no more on earth.