Classic Poem

Behold, how perfect the majestic strains
Sung by the epic thunder! and how sweet,
Even to critic ears, those deft refrains
The lyric streams repeat!

So, too, with the dramatic seas and winds,
That flout and woo. Whatever be their part,
Chords of approving harmony it finds
Within the human heart.

The rustling trees, the pattering rain, the quires
That pour their melodies from cloud and grove, —
All Nature's poetry — what heart desires
Its measures to improve?

And even the mechanic arts add voice
To Nature's minstrelsy: the rushing train
And beating mill-wheel, drive not jarring noise,
But music, through the brain.

Were Nature's simple resignation ours,
To let the higher will our wills appease,
Then ours were also those mysterious powers
That work such harmonies.

Then might I catch the method that would make
My lines as welcome as the songs of birds,
And, in the reader's faculty, awake
Thoughts that transcend my words.