Classic Poem

A shining bank of white and gold,
Lay low along the blue.
As high o'erhead through space untold,
A tiny white bird flew.
But as I watched, afflatus sped,
The rare long courted guest,
That came to thrill me, but had fled
My unresponsive breast.
And the white dove on weary wings,
That wheeling backward came,
Brought no impress of heavenly things,
To feed th' inspired flame.
But the high thought that went away,
From my o'ercrowded brain,
Will come to me again some day,
And like the dove remain.