Classic Poem

The madman wandering head in air,
About the mustard fields
Sees hosts of flying angels there
With golden spears and shields;
The fool, the fool men pity and despise
The brain-sick fool, with wonder stricken eyes,

He cannot hold his mind to earth,
He lives in heaven all day;
Bright sunlit spirits in their mirth
Flit round about his way
The fool, the fool stands happy for an hour
To see an angel in a common flower.

He cannot see the wild-rose tree,
He cannot see the stone;
Strange presences about him be,
He never goes alone.
The fool, the fool who walks the lanes at night,
Feels a warm love enwrap him round like light.

He wanders where the poppies grow
Red-flaming in the sun;
The racing winds against him blow
A living voice each one —
The fool, the fool has wit enough to find
God's whisper in the passing of the wind.