Classic Poem

The clouds that stoop from yonder sky
Discharge their burdens, and are free;
The streams that take them hasten by,
To find relief in lake and sea.

The wildest wind in vales afar
Sleeps, pillowed on its ruffled wings;
And song, through many a stormy bar,
Beats into silence on the strings!

And love o'ercomes his young unrest,
And first ambition's flight is o'er;
And doubt is cradled on the breast
Of perfect faith, and speaks no more.

Our dreams and passions cease to dare,
And homely patience learns the part;
Yet still some keen, pursuing care
Forbids consent to brain and heart.

The gift unreached, beyond the hand;
The fault in all of beauty won;
The mildew of the harvest land,
The spots upon the risen sun!

And still some cheaper service claims
The will that leaps to loftier call:
Some cloud is cast on splendid aims,
On power achieved some common thrall.

To spoil each beckoning victory,
A thousand pygmy hands are thrust;
And, round each height attained, we see
Our ether dim with lower dust.

Ah, could we breathe some peaceful air
And all save purpose there forget,
Till eager courage learn to bear
The gadfly's sting, the pebble's fret!

Let higher goal and harsher way,
To test our virtue, then combine!
'T is not for idle ease we pray,
But freedom for our task divine.