Robert Louis Stevenson(1850–1894) · Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson (Hitherto Unpublished) · 1921
Her name is as a word of old romance That thrills a careless reader out of sleep. Love and old art, and all things pure and deep Attend on her to honour her advance— The brave old wars where bearded heroes prance, The courtly mien that private virtues keep— Her name is as a word of old romance. Peer has she none in England or in France, So well she knows to rouse dull souls [from sleep] So deftly can she comfort those that weep And put kind thought and comfort in a glance. Her name is like a [word of old romance.]