Classic Poem

My love was lost: 'twas in the early spring, —
But so divine a sunset-flame attended
The loss of that immeasurable thing
That even with autumn the sweet colours blended,
And at cold Christmas snows were hardly ended,
Illuminating the void current year
And every leaf and flower and fruit suspended
Within its grasp; — so, on an evening clear,
A crimson sunset brings the distance near
And through long minutes its sweet bloom pervades
The woods, till like a cold and crystal tear
The silver moon streams lightly o'er the shades, —
And then the last red flame of sunset goes,
Like the last heavenly petal of a rose.