Classic Poem

When the winter of sorrow's keen tempests are blowing,
There is naught can the gloom of affliction beguile,
O, there 's nothing can set all my spirits a-flowing,
Like the playfulness sporting in woman's soft smile!
To me, 't is the sweet-beaming star of the morning,
When it shines o'er the fields all bespangled with dew;
Or the rose in its full bloom the valley adorning,
When the Spring spreads its flowers, and the sky is all blue.

You may lay my lorn head on the pillow of anguish,
You may draw round my couch the dark curtain of woe,
By night and by day I may painfully languish,
While the big drops of sorrow unceasingly flow:
But the sweet smile that breathes on the lips that are dear,
All my anguish can soothe, all my sorrow remove;
When woman looks kindly, I dry every tear;
O, there's nothing can charm like the smile of my love!

When the Spring blooms delightfully, clothing the scene
With sweet-breathing festoons of lilacs and roses,
And veils every meadow in Nature's pure green,
Where the eye as on pillows of softness reposes,—
Though this scene every thorn of affliction beguiles,
And smooths every passion to quiet repose,
There is nothing like beauty all beaming with smiles,
Like the play of her lips, and her cheek's blooming rose.