James Monroe Whitfield

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Approaching night her mantle flings
O'er plain and valley, rock and glen,
When borne away on fancy's wings,
Imagination guides my pen.
I soar away to glittering spheres,
And leave behind the sons of earth;
Lo! my enraptured fancy hears
Seraphic strains of heavenly mirth.
A vision as of angel bright
Sudden appears before my face,
A beauteous, fascinating sprite,
Endowed with every charm and grace.
Majestic Juno's lofty mien,
With beauteous Venus' form and face,
And chaste Diana's modesty,
Adorned with wise Minerva's grace,
United in thy form divine,
With most resplendent luster shine.
And when those matchless charms I viewed,
Thy faultless form, and graceful mien,
Surprised, amazed, entranced I stood,
And gazed with rapture on the scene.
And when thy lips were ope'd to speak,
In tones so sweet, so soft and clear,
Gabriel his golden harp might break,
And seraphs lean from heaven to hear.
'T is the pure mind which dwells within,
Displays itself in act and word,
And raises thee from every sin
Far, far above the common herd.
And when the term of life is past,
And thy pure soul returns to heaven,
The memory of thy worth shall last,
While thought or mind to man are given.

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James Monroe Whitfield