Classic Poem

It is a joy and blessing to behold
Maidens of such ethereal mood,
Ripening, amid the smiles of young and old,
Into the bloom of womanhood.

I saw thee, moving like a seraph's bride,
Serenely gay in quiet grace;
And marked, on thine own river's grassy side,
The beauty of that thoughtful face.

The native warmth of feelings, pure and deep,
Alternating with graceful glee,
The souls of all, within thy sphere, did steep
In fond, and yearning love, for thee.

The meekness of a spirit without strife,
A heart from grief, and passion, free,
Just showed how beautiful a thing, the life
So wasted here on earth, might be.

I see thee in a different scene to-night,
Hurried along in pleasure's round,
A thousand lamps have filled the air with light,
Rich flowers are dropping to the ground.

In me the dance, in me this painted room,
With all its empty forms of mirth,
To nothing, but a sense of smothered gloom,
And heaviness of heart, gives birth.

Thou too its chilling influence hast proved;
Thy smiles as yet their sweetness keep,
But not their sunny flash; the voice I loved,
Though musical, is not so deep.

Oh thou, whom all things flatter and caress,
Take heed lest meaner thoughts invade
That soul of reverential tenderness,
For all, which the high God has made.

Fly from this scene of jealousy and strife,
The realms where vanity has power:
This joyless and unprofitable life,
Suits not so delicate a flower.

To thy old feelings, and old haunts, return;
The woods — the streams — the ocean flood —
And the undying stars of night, which burn
Like seraphs in the house of God.