Classic Poem

I know a maiden in whose breast there lies
A heart more pure than Himalaya's snows,
And sweeter than the spirit of a rose.
A child-like innocence dwells in her eyes,
Which lift unconsciously toward the skies
When she is lost in thought; creation grows
Daily more beautiful to her, and those
Who know her best say she is more than wise.

For all her life is peace and glad content;
Believing good of all things, yet, like glass,
Her spirit lets no hurt of evil pass,
Though free to all things that are innocent.
So doth she live in unpretending grace,
And daily blesses all who see her face.