Classic Poem

Waves are stirring, winds are playing,
Peaceful is their interflow.
Rye, through parted boughs half-hinted,
Ripples golden-tinted
To and fro.
Thou alone art elsewhere straying.
Softlier the pulses leap.
Far-off music, faintly playing,
Stills me nigh to sleep.

Clouds go past like lovely shining
Swans across the sea of sky,
Floating soundlessly and lonely;
Swans break silence only
When they die.
Through the day with dull repining
I have labored wearily.
I would join the lovely shining
Swans and float to thee.