Classic Poem

The fair enchantress of the skies smiles on the rippling river,
Along each bank the dark trees stand, and gently shake and shiver
With every passing wind A bird its homeward way is winging,
And softly o'er the gloomy hills, a distant bell is ringing.
The World, upon the dreamy breast of Sleep, her head is bending,
While I, a soul alone, my melancholy way am wending
To where the patient willow weeps
Upon the grave where Phyllis sleeps.

Alone! For e'en the sobbing leaves rub cheek against the other,
And brother, mingling fear with tear, gives sympathy to brother.
Alone! For e'en the startled birds awakened by the weeping
Soothe each other with sweet chirps, and soon again are sleeping
Alone! There is no loving heart, no falt'ring hand to need me,
Then wherefore linger on the path? So on my feet and lead me
To where the patient willow weeps
Upon the grave where Phyllis sleeps.

Dear one, I lie upon thy grave, my tears like rain are falling,
My breaking heart, my yearning soul in vain thy name are calling
Poor little tired head, whose sunny curls I used to treasure!
Poor little tired feet, that learned all but too soon to measure
The distance to the door! And still those tender eyes so pleading
Can never see that all the pathways of my life are leading
To where the patient willow weeps
Upon the grave where now she sleeps.