Classic Poem

Peace dwells in blessing o'er a place
folded within the hills to keep
and under dark boughs seawind-fray'd:
and the kind slopes where soothings creep,
in the gold light or the green shade,
wear evermore the ancient face
of silence, and the eyes of sleep;
because they are listening evermore
unto the seawinds what they tell
to the wise, nodding, indifferent trees
high on the ridge that guard the dell,
of wars on many a far grey shore
and how the shores decay and fade
before the obstinate old seas:
and all their triumphing is made
a tale that dwindles with the eyes,
while the soft dusk lingers, delay'd,
and drifts between the indolent leaves