Classic Poem

THOU WAST A BLOSSOM

Thou wast a blossom by the deep
Still rivers that in heaven sleep;
Thou wast a white bud then:
Thou camest forth to fling thine arms
And all thy flower-sweet countless charms
Around the hearts of men.

Who loveth thee, he loves indeed
For many a year without love's meed,
For who can win a flower?
But when the sweet day comes, he takes
A bride more pure than bloom that shakes
Upon the bride's own bower.

As soft as blossoms in the breeze,
Her soft white unclothed form he sees,
Her fragrant inmost soul;
And while he folds about her wings
Triumphant, all his spirit sings,
Touching love's kingliest goal.