Classic Poem

Thy smile is sad, Elella,
Too sad for thee to wear,
For scarcely have we yet untwined
The rosebuds from thy hair.

So, dear one, hush thy sobbing,
And let thy tears be dried —
Methinks thou shouldst be happier,
Three little months a bride.

Hark! how the winds are heaping
The snow-drifts cold and white —
The clouds like spectres cross the sky —
Oh, what a lonesome night!

The hour grows late and later,
I hear the midnight chime:
Thy heart's fond keeper, where is he?
Why comes he not? — 't is time!

Here make my heart thy pillow,
And, if the hours seem long,
I'll wile them with a legend wild,
Or fragment of old song —

Or read, if that will soothe thee,
Some poet's pleasant rhymes:
Oh, I have watched and waited thus,
I cannot tell the times!

Hush, hark! across the neighboring hills
I hear the watch-dog bay —
Stir up the fire, and trim the lamp,
I'm sure he's on the way.

Could that have only been the winds,
So like a footstep near?
No, smile, Elella, smile again,
He's coming home — he is here!