Classic Poem

When like a perfume from thy lips
The May-Queen's Song first through me stole,
Like dawn above the mountain tips,
Thy voice made morning in my soul,
Until expired the tender strain
And silence quenched the rosy light,
When though I woke to day again,
Within my spirit all was night.

When horn and viol banished thought,
Yet summoned every sense that slept,
My hand thy grasp with ardour sought,
And through the dance's maze we swept;
But while thy feet, with tireless tread,
Fulfilled its orb like Dian chaste,
My reeling brain with frenzy sped,
Until my clasp released thy waist

We married—nor would I have changed
My lot that morn for crown of gold.
A month has flown—are you estranged?
I find you silent, thoughtful, cold
I am but mortal—whilst you sang
In blissful dreams I sat entranced,
And when the waltz its summons rang.
Whilst I had breath and sight I danced.

But when or song or dance expires,
A gold cord snaps—a spell is broke.
'Tis sad but true that mortal fires,
Like those of brushwood, end in smoke
You promised me to make life bright
With smiles—then why that pouting glance?
You cannot sing from morn till night,
Nor I from night till morning dance.