Classic Poem

Afar along the winding way
The towering Locusts grow,
Where zephyrs shower the blossomed spray
In flurries as of snow.

'Neath airy galleries wove of light
The lanes are all perfume,
While in the blue the clustered white
Makes miracles of bloom,

As though some unseen Ariel-hand,
To work a wonder rare,
By magic of his elfin wand
Strewed flowers in the air.

And high, the bowery limbs among,
A tanager is seen,
A wayward troubadour whose song
With love-notes thrills the green.

And now, beneath the hum of bees,
Within the quiet land,
Two lovers meet beside the trees
And wander, hand-in-hand.

O tenderest time for old and young,
Your voice is in mine ear;
And gentlest Solace finds no tongue
To stifle back the tear.

To us, more precious is each hour, —
The remnant dearer grows;
'Twas Youth that spurned the dewy flower, —
We hoard the faded rose.

Ye days of love and bloom, now gone,
Ye bring a pang of pain,
For if we walk, we walk alone
Within the Locust lane!