Classic Poem

I stood upon a little rustic bridge
That o'er a narrow bickering brooklet lay,
And watched the sun go down behind a ridge
Of hillocks far away.

A rosy lustre lived along the skies,
And isled rich streaks of orange-gloried hue;
While fleecy cloudlets fringed with radiant dyes
Scudded across the blue.

Eastward a pale moon clomb the azure steep;
A single star looked forth with quivering glow,
And the brook sent its music, lone and deep,
Murmurously from below.

The twilight glory melted through my frame;
The moon held o'er my blood its mystic sway;
The mellow murmur of the brooklet came
And charmed my heart away!

And ere the sunset faded from the tips
Of those far hills, some spirit of the eve
Breathed forth a song more sweet than mortal lips
Could frame, or heart conceive!

Still in my soul its low wild echoes live,
Its sweet, weird measure makes me oft rejoice,
But ah! strive how I may, I cannot give
Its wondrous music voice!