Classic Poem

It is eve at our eyrie; the river
Falls dim in its tremulous gaze;
There's a mantle of mist and a quiver
Of stars through the violet haze.

Soft twilight! the far silent city
Sleeps, veiled in the valley beneath,
Eclipsed by the flash of this pretty
Bright “ruby-throat” here on this wreath.

Shall I try, ere the daylight is over,
So high from its dust and its din,
How much of the world I can cover
With the leaf of a jessamine?

All the life and the light of the city
Shall I daintily hide from my sight,
With its sorrow that weeps, and the pity
That walks with the angels to-night?

Sweet mercies that shadow me! Never!
Lest the soul in my body should die,
Ere the sparkle fades out of the river,
Or the light from the violet sky.