Classic Poem

I cannot cease to love thee,
Coldest fair!
Though pleading cannot move thee,
And I despair.

Thy beauty was diviner,
Than the summer moon,
And thou didst outshine her,
At her noon.

Thy brow was like the silver
On the star-lit sea;
Thy bright eyes did bewilder
All, as me.

Thy motions were the motions
Of a charmed bird,
As, poised o'er dream-world oceans,
His sweet voice is heard.

Thou wast queenlier far
Than the queenliest flower,
More glorious than a star
In a fairy bower.

But it can not move thee,
My mad prayer!
Though I must ever love thee,
Coldest fair!