Classic Poem

Yes, the gods are dumb and dead,
But the bobolink sings on!
And the bluebird, overhead,
Pipes his joy when Day has won
Fair Aurora's blushing face,
Hidden in a cloudy lace.
While the pipe of Pan is still,
Let the new world have its will!
Listen to the robin's playing,
On the maple's top a-swaying,
Ah, so proud of that one nest,—
Puffing out his scarlet vest,—
Piper of the dress parade
In sunrise glow or twilight shade.

Yes, the gods are dumb and dead;
Never naiad from the rushes
Shrieks at panting faun that pushes
Through the bushes where she sped.
But a maid can charm us now,
Sitting 'neath the apple bough,
Where the snowy blossoms flying
Mingle with the music sighing,
And the petals of her song
By the breeze are borne along.
Lovers by the trysting tree
Care not if they never see
Chaste Diana on the lea;
Roaming round the firefly camp
They shall covet not the lamp
Psyche carried through the damp.

Whispering to his bashful love,
Every lover seems a Jove,
Stooping from some sphere above.
So the maiden in the morn'
Seemeth to the swain, love-lorn,
Venus, from the sea, new-born!
What if gods are dumb and dead,
So that Love lives on instead,
And the roses touch and wed?