Classic Poem

I built a shrine one day
Within my inmost heart
And draped it not with words
And thoughts of gaudy weave
To catch the shallow crowd,
But with white words of truth
I placed it not upon
The public-way but in
A spot retired and sweet,
Where I might go alone
The candle that I placed
Upon its sacred steps
Were not of dazzling grace,
Nor burned with light so bright,
That one who passed afar
Might step with widened eyes,
And say mid loud guffaw,
" Behold the one he loves! "
The idol that I placed
Within this modest shrine
Was but a maiden small,
But yet divinely pure,
And there I humbly knelt
Before those calm, grey, eyes,
Full oft throughout the night,
And oft at moments sweet,
Purloined throughout the day,
And all the loving words
I never dared to speak
Gushed through my silent lips
An unsealed fountain strong, —
They were not flowery words
For I ne'er had the gift
To speak in fragrant speech,
But still they had this grace,
They came from out my soul

— —

Sweet idol of my life,
One, little, saintly, maid,
Who keeps my actions pure,
And makes me see the best
In all the sinning world
Through her grave, thoughtful, eyes: —
Ah sweet! Cannot you guess
The idol at my shrine?