Classic Poem

Thy pipe clear, cogent, summoning, I heard
Like the long locust's trill, when I was young,
Halting but not dissonant with the bird,
A louder chanson on a thrilling tongue;
Current occurrence poetry became
In thy sweet glottis and thou didst not fear:
I list thy pibroch after years the same
And find thee sweeter as I come more near.
Thy Muse doth balance while thy wants take ramble
On Wall Street's deafening and deadly way,
Like him who walked the wire with many a gambol,
Along the foam line of Niagara.
Thy foot is on Apollo's lyre-strung air;
I know where thou art by a rainbow there.