Classic Poem

She whom this heart must ever hold most dear
(This heart in happy bondage held so long)
Began to sing. At first a gentle fear
Rosied her countenance—for she is young,
And he who loves her most of all was near;
But when at last her voice grew full and strong,
O, from their ambush sweet, how rich and clear
Bubbled the notes abroad—a rapturous throng!
Her little hands were sometimes flung apart,
And sometimes palm to palm together prest,
Whilst wave-like blushes, rising from her breast,
Kept time with that aerial melody,
As music to the sight!—I, standing nigh,
Received the falling fountain in my heart.