Classic Poem

She listened like a cushat dove
That listens to its mate alone;
She listened like a cushat dove
That loves but only one.

Not fair as men would reckon fair,
Nor noble as they count the line;
Only as graceful as a bough
And tendrils of the vine;
Only as noble as sweet Eve
Your ancestress and mine.

And downcast were her dovelike eyes,
And downcast was her tender cheek,
Her pulses fluttered like a dove
To hear him speak.