Classic Poem

This band of true patrician hue
I hold in tender thrall:
But the dear rebel holds me too
For it remembers all.

It dreams of its proud office, ere
It fell to me from you
When—was it your ethereal hair
It cintured with its blue?

Or was it your white ambrosial throat
Its azure thrilled to kiss
While envious lips and eyes might note
The sweet antithesis?

Or your slim waist, adored, desired,
It clasped with joy perchance,
And felt each silken fibre fired
With ardent circumstance?

Nay, happier yet! To play its part
What lover might not barter
His hopes of heaven and pawn his heart?
This ribbon was—your garter!