Classic Poem

Black eyes you have left, you say,
Blue eyes fail to draw you;
Yet you seem more rapt to-day,
Than of old we saw you.

Oh I track the fairest fair
Through new haunts of pleasure;
Footprints here and echoes there
Guide me to my treasure:

Lo! She turns—immortal youth
Wrought to mortal stature,
Fresh as starlight's aged truth—
Many-namèd Nature!