Classic Poem

Stone walls, dear trees, worn paths of every day,
Because you have lived so cleanly in my mind
Something of me for ever in you shall stay,
When I the smaller acre yet shall find.
When noon is bright I shall be with your flowers,
With you the snows of winter I shall wear,
And when, enchanted in the midnight hours,
You are a silver lake, I shall be there.

And none shall know, or few; yet, knowing not,
The stranger here shall with your spirit take
Into his heart a kinship unforgot
That still you tell in numbers for my sake,
And in your mute occasion then shall be
Some whispered word that once you learnt of me.