Classic Poem

I CANNOT see the wind, and yet it draws
By secret laws;
The moon I see, yet never that which brings
The waters welling from their coraled springs;
And when the rainbow stands
Over the shimmering lands,
I think some ancient promise lifts up her regal hands.

I have known many a friend —
Come from the world's end
Down circling stairways of recurring years —
Stand with the startled grace
Of knowledge in his face
And sudden wonder smiting nigh to tears:

So now I dare not say
In any careless way
That death could be so dark as not to bring the day.