Classic Poem

1

Ere I loved thee what hue did the May blossoms wear,
And how were the rose and the woodbine attired:
When the notes of the nightingale floated in air,
Did I list to the music as if 'twere inspired? —
I ask not blest Lover — nor seek to recall
That season of dimness and winterly cold;
The sun is now shining — it shines over all,
And all things are painted with purple and gold.

2

Were the sun of my love blotted out from the sky,
How then would the rose and the woodbine appear?
When the lark sang his song as he mounted on high,
How then would his melody sound in mine ear? —
Full surely I know not: my seasons would fail,
Could I truly depicture that blackness and gloom:
Ere it comes may this joy-illumed cheek have grown pale,
And dark with the shadows that fall from the tomb.