Classic Poem

'Scaped from the day's long heats and hustling crowds,
How much for that sweet silence I condoned!
The gold moon glimpsed from out faint-stirring clouds,
And near the nested bird the beetle droned;
Pensive upon my garden-chair I sat,
And gave my spirit up to evening dreams,
Haunted by fragments of that meagre chat,
That held so long, and touch'd such weary themes,
All worthless! Near me lay that burial sod
Where to a shining thread such power was given,
A little, aimless, ferrying, light that stood,
And moved and stood again, at random driven,
But made, by hope, significant for good,
It plies, henceforth, between that hope and heaven.