Classic Poem

A YOUNG MAN TO A MERCHANT

Old Man, your pearls are not for us,
Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
Or opals of the moon?

I do not ask for other gems;
Flashing with frost and fire
The sky's undying diadems
Shall be my love's attire.

Emeralds, that into rubies melt
Upon the brow of night,
I've taken from Orion's belt
To make her girdle bright.

On high ways of the albatross
I scale the purple air
For sapphires of the Southern Cross
And wreathe them in her hair.

Her robe it is the morning sky,
Her veil it is the West;
So robed, so veiled my love will fly,
When I am gone to rest.

Yet all the rays of all the moons,
The lights of all the skies
Are pale beside the dim lagoons
Of those mysterious eyes.

Old Man, your pearls are not for us,
Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
Or opals of the moon?