Classic Poem

The stroller in the pensive field
Doth many a wildering flower descry;
Sometimes to him the roses yield,
Sometimes the lilies feed his eye;
Sometimes he takes delight in one,
Sometimes in all, sometimes in none.

But when, in dusky woodland ways,
He sees, beside some dreaming stone,
The fresh, untutored violet raise
Her pleading eyes, for him alone,
Then makes his heart its instant choice, —
For Nature speaks, in Beauty's voice.

The lover, when his life is new,
By many a wayward impulse led,
Sometimes is charmed by golden hue,
Sometimes by brown and mantling red;
Sometimes proud dame and maiden small
Please just the same, or not at all.

But when, remote from pleasure's whirl,
He sees, at home's sequestered shrine,
The ardent, happy, guileless girl,
Of mortal mould, but soul divine, —
Too good, too beautiful, to know
How fair her worth and beauty show;

Then all his roving fancies pause,
Entranced by that o'erwhelming grace;
It rules him by celestial laws,
It lights a splendor in his face:
'Tis the best good that Fate can give —
And all for which 'tis life to live!