Classic Poem

The seer from the starry skies
Would seek futurity;
But in the lovelier light that lies
In the soft azure of thine eyes
I'll read thy fate for thee:

All woman's tenderness and love
In those silk shadows shine;
May a bright blessing from above,
With all that thy young heart must prove
Of woman's lot, be thine.

Thy forehead's violet veinlets tell
That to that brow belong
Rich treasures of the tome and shell,
The might of genius, and the spell
Of high, entrancing song.

I read for thee no diadem
Of glittering jewels wrought;
This brow shall wear no radiant gem,
No flashing coronet to dim
The light of burning thought.

No scepter for this tiny hand—
No scepter save the pen—
That wings the spirit's high command,
More potent than a monarch's wand
To sway the hearts of men.

I read no jeweled robe to twine
Around thy queenly form,
But hearts that bow at beauty's shrine,
And sterner souls shall kneel at thine,
And own its holier charm.

Thus with the poet's prophet powers
Thy future lot is given,—
To tread through earth a path of flowers
Where rosy-winged and happy hours
Shall guide thy feet to heaven.