Classic Poem

I remember well, in my boyhood's romp,
The beautiful flower that grew near the swamp,
With its spiral screw
Of cerulean hue,
While on the marge of its petals grew
A fringe, such as art never weaves.

I plucked it with zeal, for my heart was aglow,
Its color and form, my mother to show,
And gladden her eyes
With the exquisite prize
I had found when autumnal zephyr sighs
'Mong the faded flowers and leaves.

Fair emblem of maiden adorned as a bride,
The tintings of heaven within you abide;
You smilingly stand
In bridal robe grand,
For a lover who offers an ardent hand,
And a heart that never deceives.

When others have left us, we cherish the one
Who remains firm and faithful till vict'ry's won;
Though cold be the storm,
The heart is e'er warm
For the tried and true, who weave such a charm
Round the heart of him who receives.