Classic Poem

Hark you such sound as quivers? Kings will hear,
—As kings have heard, and tremble on their thrones;
—The old will feel the weight of mossy stones;
—The young alone will laugh and scoff at fear.
It is the tread of armies marching near,
—From scarlet lands to lands forever pale;
—It is a bugle dying down the gale;
—It is the sudden gushing of a tear.
And it is hands that grope at ghostly doors;
—And romp of spirit-children on the pave;
—It is the tender sighing of the brave
Who fell, ah! long ago, in futile wars;
——It is such sound as death; and, after all,
——'Tis but the forest letting dead leaves fall.