Classic Poem

Who knows my own true lover dwells
Beyond the summer dawn,
Where all the thrilling, chilling spells
That make the winter wan
Are powerless in the light that throws
A riper ruby o'er the rose?

Who knows my own true lover bides
In that bright summer land
Where silent time and silver tides
Creep over soul and sand,
For ever soothing, smoothing each,
The bosom gently and the beach?

Who knows my own true lover lives
In such a sunny scene
That eager spring-time hardly gives
The autumn space to glean,
And careless in the close pursuit
The sower tramples on the fruit?

Who knows my own true lover strays
On shores of happiness,
Where nature decks the dullest days
In some enchanting dress,
And puts her fairest fashion on
To tempt the swallow and the swan?

Who knows my own true lover waits
To welcome me to bliss;
There, all achieved that separates
To share it with a kiss;
Who knows how soon the darling hour
Will measure out the marriage dower?

Who knows save only I and he —
No mortal else beside?
And when men ask how this may be
A riddle is replied;
Three signs are set to seal this thing —
A flower, a song, a bird's white wing!