Classic Poem

I. IN A BOOK OF OLD SONGS

Dear , were you in a garden old,
Loved of brave troubadours
Who praised your hair's bewildering gold,
That glimmers and allures,
The greatest, wondering on your face
Between the ilex trees,
Might touch his lute and thrill the place
With sweeter songs than these.

II. IN THE BOOK THAT YOU HAVE READ

I NEED no penciled margin line;
By subtler emphasis,
Page after page, I can divine
Your thought of that and this.

I know that here your grave lips smiled
The smile that Beauty brings;
And here you listened where some wild
Age-smitten forest sings.

Here your brow wore the world-old pain
No poet may forget;
And here you stayed to read again;
Here, read through lashes wet.

So, leaf by leaf, until, I deem,
Your darkened eyes forsook
One shining page, because your dream
Was lovelier than the book.