Classic Poem

It is the hour when all is dark and still;
When long despair, brief hope, alike resign
Their ancient dominance of human will;
When life no longer to the far sea-line
Bends its gray sails, worn with the winds of ill,
Seeking those unseen lands beyond the brine
Which never, through the bitter foam and chill,
A man shall mark, and marvel as they shine;

It is the hour of silence. No one cares
To think of toil now, asking, " What is done
By all our effort endlessly onstreaming? "
For we are sick of mocking, sly despairs,
And we would rest as if all time were gone,
Filling the hour of peace with foolish dreaming.