Classic Poem

One pale and perfect twilight eve in May,
Pensive of mood, I sought her cherished tomb;
The air was fragrant with a suave perfume,
The earth had woven into flowers the way.

With saddened thought I knelt me down to pray,
Wondering how Nature, lacking her, could bloom,
When, oh, most strange! a rose-bush from the gloom
Caught in my sleeve as if to bid me stay.

I dared not doubt, her fond soul at my feet
Breathed in the beauteous bosom of the flowers,
And charmed my sense, as when in bliss complete.
Upon the blue Garonne, near feudal towers,
Her white, soft, jeweled hands and kisses sweet
Were wont to lure me back in vanished hours.