Classic Poem

Your present to me shall a souvenir be,
A treasure, a charm, with sweet memories fraught;
In its rose-hues I trace the blush on your face,
When it lights from the soul with beautiful thought.

Its pearls, gleaming bright, on a ground lily white,
Are symbols of purity, goodness and truth;
And its figure and air, so graceful and fair,
Remind me of gentleness, beauty and youth.

As dainty it seems, as if wrought of the dreams
That come when the brain fails its empire to keep,
And Fancy alone takes her seat on the throne,
With scepter and crown, in the kingdom of sleep.

O what shall I say, that would ever repay
This offering of friendship, unselfish and true?
I've nothing to bring, save the poor song I sing;
But pray let me tell you what fain I would do:

If I were the king of some island, where Spring
Keeps her brow ever white and her heart ever green,
In the freshness and sweetness of beauty's completeness,
I'd crown you with myrtle and make you my queen.

I would build you a bower of every fair flower
That gives out its odorous wealth to the air;
Where the troubadour breeze, coming in from the seas,
Would kiss your fair brow and caress your brown hair.

I would carpet its floors and curtain its doors
With the radiant banners that hang in the skies;
That hang far away, where the slumberous day,
Like a king on his couch, in the purple light dies.

There, care should not borrow a thought of the morrow,
Nor dream of the past, or the future annoy,
But elegant leisure and innocent pleasure
Should bury each day in a cycle of joy.

The murmur of rills, stealing down from the hills,
Should lull you to slumber delicious and light,
While the waves, hand in hand, knelt down in the sand,
And worshipped the stars in the chambers of night.