Classic Poem

Lost! all the flush of roses and of skies
That change at morning to the red of eve,
O'er clover-waves that in soft meadows heave
In foam of blossoms with white-fringèd eyes—
The changing glamour that the sun fays leave,
The snow of summer that on green sward lies
When roses faint and all their spells unweave
In vale and coppice, ere the autumn flies!

Ah, naught is left to me but winter days,
For all my summer has been lost to me
Amid dull drudging in the toil of trade.
Lost gold of grain fields, green of country ways—
A dream!—my dream! for one whole day of ye
I'd risk all gold of men, and be well paid!