Classic Poem

Yet, strangely beautiful your face I find;
Your voice is like the murmur that decrees
A morn of April, and awakes the trees
To meet the soft caresses of the wind.
Like sudden light your presence makes us blind;
From your compelling spell the weak man flees
The strong man sues you on his bended knees;
And with your golden hair their chains you bind.

I am not of them. Not to you I kneel.
Cold is your charm — like the white moon your soul;
For something more akin to me I yearn.
You can enthrall; but, Empress, can you feel?
March on, unchallenged, to your far-off goal;
From you to some more human heart I turn.