Classic Poem

Cold sunlight slanting down cold hills
Upon my passion:
Cold waters rippling chilly rills
Babbling a hard compassion:
What profits it to live in such a fashion?
But a hundred miles and more
Through the old, sweet city
Birds of spring are singing evermore
Their pure love-ditty,
Yea, though this barren sunlight pales away
For crystal cold, clear glows their passionate day
With burning blue: and it is far away.