Classic Poem

Oh sigh, thou stealest (the herald of the breast)
The lover's fears, the lover's pangs, to tell;
Thou bidst with timid grace the bosom swell,
Cheating the day of joy, the night of rest!
Oh lucid tears, with eloquence confessed,
Why on my fading cheek unheeded dwell,
Meek as the dew-drops on the flowret's bell
By ruthless tempests to the green-sod pressed.
Fond sigh, be hushed! Congeal, oh slighted tear—
Thy feeble powers the busy Fates control!
Or if thy crystal streams again appear,
Let them, like Lethe's, to oblivion roll—
For love the tyrant plays when hope is near,
And she who flies the lover, chains the soul!