Classic Poem

Come on the breeze of the twilight hour,
When I muse alone in my leaf-clad bower;
And there let thy gentle voice be heard,
Like the carol sweet of some favorite bird;
Breathe o'er the chords of my slumbering lute
Tones that, alas! have so long been mute.

Come on the balmy breath of the night,
When the moon is shedding her silvery light
O'er the sylvan grove and the crystal deep,
And nature is locked in her quiet sleep;
Leave the pure mansions of bliss—thy home,
And hie thee to earth—oh come, come, come.

Come when the cheerful voice of the spring,
Gaily through woodland and grove doth ring;
Come when the cuckoo gives welcome note,
That sweet and clear on the light winds float;
Come when joy sits enthroned in the heart,
Come and bear thy delightful part.

Come when the tear of keen sorrow flows,
Thou and thou only can'st soothe my woes;
Come when my cheek has grown-pale with care,
Or the hectic flush is gath'ring there;
And hear me sigh for my starry home,
Never, oh! never, again to roam.