Classic Poem

As up on trees' high limbs
The western sunshine glowed,
And down by river brims
The wind-blown ripples flowed,
There we all sought the tun
Where evening smoke rose grey,
While dells begun to miss the light of day.

The mother-holden child,
Before the gate, would spring,
And crow, and struggle wild
At sight of birds on wing;
And home-bound men would shout,
And make their game before
The girls come out in clusters at the door.

Then we'd a door to go
Within to seek our rest,
When stars began to show
Above the red-sky'd west,
But now, from that old door
We all have taken flight,
And some no more can tell the day from night.