Classic Poem

When yellow-locked and crystal-eyed
I dreamed green woods among,
Where tall trees waved from side to side,
And in their green breasts deep and wide
I saw the building bluejay hide,
O then the earth was young!

The winds were fresh and brave and bold,
The red sun round and strong;
No prophet voice, chill, loud and cold,
Across my woodland dreamings rolled:
" The green earth waxeth sere and old
That once was fair and young. "

I saw in scarred and knotty bole
The freshening of the sap;
When timid spring gave first small dole
Of sunbeams thro' bare boughs that stole,
I saw the brightening blossoms roll
From summer's high-piled lap.

And where an ancient oak tree lay
The forest stream across,
I mused above the sweet, shrill spray,
I watched the speckled trout at play,
I saw the shadows dance and sway
On ripple and on moss.

I pulled the chestnut branches low,
As o'er the stream they hung,
To see their bursting buds of snow;
I heard the sweet spring waters flow —
My heart and I, we did not know
But that the earth was young.

I joyed in solemn woods to see,
Where sudden sunbeams clung,
On open space of mossy lea
The violet and anemone
Wave their frail heads and beckon me —
Sure then the earth was young!

I heard the fresh wild breezes birr
New budded boughs among,
I saw the deeper tinting stir
In the green tassels of the fir,
I heard the pheasant rise and whirr
Above her callow young.

I saw the tall fresh ferns down prest
By scudding doe and fawn,
I saw the grey dove's swelling breast
Above the margin of her nest,
When north and south and east and west
Rolled all the red of dawn.

At eventide at length I lay,
On grassy pillow flung;
I saw the parting bark of day —
With crimson sails and shrouds all gay
With golden fires — drift away
The billowy clouds among.

I saw the stately planets sail
On that blue ocean wide;
I saw, blown by some mystic gale —
Like silver ship in elfin tale
That bore some damsel rare and pale —
The moon's slim crescent glide.

And every throb of spring that shook
The rustling boughs among,
That filled the silver vein of brook,
That lit with bloom the mossy nook,
Cried to my boyish bosom: " Look!
How fresh the earth and young! "

The winds were fresh, the days as clear
As crystals set in gold.
No shape with prophet-mantle drear
Thro' those old woods came drifting near
To whisper in my wondering ear:
" The green earth waxeth old. "