Classic Poem

Loll under pines where, faint and far,
The coast is like a scimitar,
So faint and so far down below
The blue in silence turns to snow.

Or call the spendthrift Summer up
When squandered is the buttercup,
And watch the purple pomp unrolled
On every acre's Cloth of Gold;
And hear again the drowsy hum
As drunken bees go barging home.

Or watch the pane that glimmers through,
When twilight makes the valley blue,
With yellow light to find its match
In one big star beyond the thatch,
And all the air's a mild alloy;
Of grief that's half akin to Joy.
If thoughts of Love be kept afar —
For Love can waken more than War,
Whose greatest captains could sleep sound
Before the fatal final round —

Sweet Sleep, the whole world's treasure trove,
The crown and only cure for Love,
Will come, and gently lead your soul,
So when it leaves the Will's control,
It may not on the fruitless coast
Of Waking Dreams be starved and lost.