Classic Poem

The mighty spirit, that regulates this earth,
Now, like a pilot strongly set for land,
Has in the east planted his sudden hand,
Whence the glad winds come pouring in their mirth,
But Nature, hopeful of her next new birth,
Takes all in patience, — putting off her band
Of glorious leaves, and then with lofty stand
Proving her right of hope, and lasting worth.

So he, the tried of storms, who has to bear
Change for a season, and his weal's decline,
Should meet the flattering sternness; and resign
All shows, and prove what a stouTheart can spare;
Secure, some day, of that green wreath divine,
Which ever has run round triumphant hair.