Classic Poem

Stay where thou art, thou need'st not further go,
The flower with me is pleading at thy feet;
The clouds, the silken clouds, above me flow,
And fresh the breezes come thy cheek to greet.
Why hasten on; — hast thou a fairer home?
Has God more richly blest the world than here,
That thou in haste would'st from thy country roam,
Favored by every month that fills the year?
Sweet showers shall on thee here, as there, descend;
The sun salute thy morn and gild thy eve:
Come, tarry here, for Nature is thy friend,
And we an arbor for ourselves will weave;
And many a pilgrim, journeying on as thou,
Will grateful bless its shade, and list the wind-struck bough.