Classic Poem

BY FREDERIC W. THOMAS .

I've thought, in many a dreaming hour,
If I could win the voice of fame —
The wreath without a fading flower,
That gathers round a glorious name:
That come what might I should be blest,
The gay, the fair, might take the rest.

That woman's smile should but attract,
Like music at the gorgeous play —
Given between each passing act,
To wile the tedious time away —
That when the scene employed my care,
I'd heed not how she went, or where.

E'en as the boy who takes the bird,
And loves to mark its panting breast,
And breathes it many a pretty word,
And gives it all that birds love best, —
With woman thus I thought to play,
Then, wearied, let her flee away.

That wish for fame, is but a dream,
Which only in my dreams can live,
And, could I realize the theme,
What could its frail possession give?
The bird! alas! her notes I've heard —
Oh, that I now could win the bird.

She should my every thought engage —
'T would be my joy to hear her sing —
And keep her in a willing cage,
And of my heart I'd make the string, —
Then, Lady-bird; we could not part,
But with a soared and broken heart.