Classic Poem

Overhead a sapphire sky;
Blossom of the may-trees round:
On the warm, lush, meadow ground,
Where the sorrel blooms, we lie.

Psyche-winged, in gold and white
Butterflies float past: the earth,
'Neath the charm of summer's birth,
Thrills with delicate delight.

Softly breathes a southern wind;
Sings for joy a lark above:
Oh! what paradise of love
Fairer may our spirits find!

Far away is London town,
As a world unknown, forgot:
Misery and sins are not!
Nothing now for tears or frown!

Lean, my Dearest, lean your head
Quietly against me. So!
Listen, while I whisper low
Words, that hardly may be said.

Nay, your spirit lifts the veil
From love, trembling to confess:
In this summer peacefulness
Silence better tells his tale.

Your free senses have discerned,
Ere his stamm'ring lips can part,
That, for which but heart to heart
Knows a language, yet unlearned.

Lean, my Dearest, lean your head
Quietly against me: lay
Little hand in mine, to say,
“Thus, indeed, the heart is sped.”

Ah! a cloud across the sun!
Ah! a chill within the breeze!
Ah! a shiver through the trees!
And the flower-land is dun!

Nothing! see the light return,
Clearer from the gray eclipse!
And the smile about your lips
Tells a spirit's unconcern.

Foolish, verily, was I,
Dreaming you should thus divine
Secrets of this heart of mine.
Love for your comes by-and-by.

Here, enough, to-day you feel
This bland summer hour's content;
Magic music, colour, scent,
Through your happy senses steal.

Only, Dearest, lean your head
Quietly against me. So!
Leave me, when these moments go,
Ah! what memories instead!