Classic Poem

Timed by the rhythm of a languid strain,
Leaning together in a waltz we turned;
And a pent passion in my being burned
Till dumb endurance grew a very pain.
Yet I was silent, deeming speech in vain;
Surely, as one in nether hell, I yearned,—
Why should I climb to heaven to be spurned,
Why pray for what I never could attain?
The music throbbed. Across my lips there swept
A flame of hair. And then—I know not why—
But, seeing by her lashes that she wept,
I dared my hopeless love to testify.
O God! against my side her heart upleapt
In sudden, silent, passionate reply.