Classic Poem

One night she came, — like a strange dream-born flower, —
And sprinkled many a petal on the floor,
And stood between me and the close-shut door,
Awful in her excess of maiden power.
And even as a green delightful bower
The chamber was; — her softness seemed to steep
My spirit in wondrous depths of magic sleep,
And time fell dead, — hour floated after hour.

Then force immortal lifted either soul,
And hand in hand through dark wild solitudes
And green recesses of moon-lighted woods
We wandered; for some fairy seemed to roll
The yielding walls aside, — and sorrows stole
Away like ghosts with white averted hoods.