Classic Poem

He saw not that a group had gather'd nigh,
Gazing upon his silence silently.
He heard not, till upon his spirit came,
In a low sigh of agony, his name.
He started, saw a gentle fugitive,
Saw her at distance through the concourse strive,
Pursued, and lost her. But his eye no more
Could in its calmness to that blue heaven soar.
" Oh! but see the lip that breathed that sigh!
Breathed it for him? was't love, woe, mockery?
That young lip must be lovely; soul, high soul,
Was in the sigh that o'er its ruby stole. "
So had one breath disturb'd his spirit's stream,
And such the wanderings that make passion's dream.