Classic Poem

More than me pleased was now my dread;
I stood full still, I dared not speak;
with open eyes and fast-closed mouth,
I stood as gentle as hawk in hall.
A ghostly vision I trow'd it was;
I dreaded what might there betide,
lest what I saw should me escape
ere I it held within my reach;
when, lo! that spotless child of grace,
so smooth, so small, so sweetly slight,
arose in all her royal array,—
a precious piece, bedight with pearls.