Classic Poem

When spring with its sunshine hours is here,
Each dear little floweret buds and blows;
When the moon on her radiant journey goes,
Then follows her wake every starlet clear.
When the singer looks into two sweet eyes,
From the depths of his spirit his songs arise.
But songs and stars, and the dear little flowers,
And eyes, and moon-rays, and sunshine hours,
However much all such stuff may please,
We cannot make us a world of these.