Classic Poem

Lute! breathe thy lowest in my Lady's ear,
Sing while she sleeps, “Ah! belle dame, aimez-vous?”
Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here,
And wake to find it, as my love is, true;
Then, while she listens in her warm white nest,
Say in slow music,—softer, tenderer yet,
That lute-strings quiver when their tone 's at rest,
And my heart trembles when my lips are set.

Stars! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies,
Shine through the roses for a lover's sake;
And send your silver to her lidded eyes,
Kissing them very gently till she wake;
Then, while she wonders at the lay and light,
Tell her, though morning endeth star and song,
That ye live still, when no star glitters bright,
And my love lasteth, though it finds no tongue.