Classic Poem

When Nature formed Cassandra, who should move
The hardest hearts with love's soft passionings,
She made her of a thousand beauteous things
That she had hoarded like a treasure-trove

For centuries. And Love too interwove
All He was dearly nesting neath His wings
Of gentle, to make honey-sweet the stings
Of her fair eyes, that even the Gods must love.

And when from Heaven she was newly come
And first I saw her, my poor heart, struck dumb,
Was lost in love; and love, her minister,

So poured her charm into my very veins
That now I have no pleasure but my pains,
No aim or knowledge but the thought of her.