Classic Poem

I closed my eyes in winter; when I woke,
Or seemed to wake, the trees were new and green,
And many a flower was there, and glossy sheen
Of insects, each resplendent in his cloak
Of gorgeous summer, and the bird-choirs spoke, —
And I heard a woman's voice that seemed to say
— 'Twill ring within me to my dying day —
" Hasten, I wait for thee beneath the oak,
I was expecting thee; " and never more
Shall any other voice be strange and sweet
As that was, though I search from shore to shore,
From the blue Arctic icebergs to the heat
Of the extreme South, and open every door,
And try the hollows of each green retreat.