Read "To Claudia" by Thomas Nelson Page online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
It is not, Claudia, that thine eyes / Are sweeter far to me, / Than is the light of Summer skies / To captives just set free.
It is not that the setting sun / Is tangled in thy hair, / And recks not of the course to run, / In such a silken snare.
Nor for the music of thy words, / Fair Claudia, love I thee, / Though sweeter than the songs of birds / That melody to me.
It is not that rich roses rare / Within thy garden grow, / Nor that the fairest lilies are / Less snowy than thy brow.
Nay, Claudia, 't is that every grace / In thy dear self I find; / That Heaven itself is in thy face, / And also in thy mind.