Classic Poem

Night's dewy Orb, that o'er yon limpid stream
— Its silent light in soft refulgence throws;
— Yon limpid stream, whose quiv'ring bosom shows
The tender radiance of the silv'ry beam:

Yon tangled wood, whose high and waving head
— Hangs o'er the dashing torrent's frothy source;
Which wildly bounding from its pebbly bed,
— Thro' the lone valley winds its dimpling course;

Have oft, full oft, been witness to my woe,
— When cold neglect, false hopes, and jealous fears,
The ruby Drops that in my bosom glow,
— With icy touch transform'd to Crystal Tears;
Dear precious Gems, still shall your rays impart,
The brightest lustre of the feeling Heart.

Night's dewy Orb, that o'er yon limpid stream
— Its silent light in soft refulgence throws;
— Yon limpid stream, whose quiv'ring bosom shows
The tender radiance of the silv'ry beam:

Yon tangled wood, whose high and waving head
— Hangs o'er the dashing torrent's frothy source;
Which wildly bounding from its pebbly bed,
— Thro' the lone valley winds its dimpling course;

Have oft, full oft, been witness to my woe,
— When cold neglect, false hopes, and jealous fears,
The ruby Drops that in my bosom glow,
— With icy touch transform'd to Crystal Tears;
Dear precious Gems, still shall your rays impart,
The brightest lustre of the feeling Heart.