Classic Poem

I see her now, an elfin shape,
That makes the air seem full of light,
And brings in thoughts of pleasant might
About fair serpent forms, that leap
Among the flowers in warm Brazil,
And how at every move we feel
There is new beauty, and a birth
Of something glorious to the earth.

Her face is almost given to smiles,
Almost given up to happy laughter,
But look ye near, and mark the whiles
An under-glance out-stealing after;
The sweetest glance I ever saw;
Yet terrible for the inward law
Which it reveals, the maiden power,
The thoughts that breathe a pure heart-air,
Nor ever shall in any hour
Forth to the garish day-light fare.

Her voice, whose flowing tones I deem
A language for her sympathies,
A symbol for her mysteries,
Which words could never be or seem,
That voice is sounding now in gladness,
And if a rarer accent say
An earnest and a gentle sadness
Freshens the spirit of life alway,
That deepens still the simple charm,
And blesses all who hear from harm.

I may not hear; no influence
Is breathed from her to bless my sense;
I sit and think of her alone:
Yet, by the sacred stars I swear,
I would not one so very fair
And gentle, on this eve, should own
A single pining thought of me.
Oh be she joyous—and the full
Orb of her soul, so perfect free,
All glory in the world shall dull!
So be it; I will think of her
As going forth a conquerer,
And of her voice, her smile, her motion,
As something for a bard's devotion.
No sigh, no treacherous tear shall say
I grieve that I am far away,
And others see her glad to-day!