Classic Poem

Down the road I spied the weed,
And the head was gone to seed.
I ran to blow it into air.
Suddenly from out the heart
Sighed a ghost, complaining there: —

" I am bound in a world that is old and round
And cannot die,
Though it wave perpetually, —
Hoary-headed world and round
That debars me from the sky.
In a solid ball imbound
Captive evermore I cry. "

Then I pulled the stem and blew.
Out upon the wind he flew.