Classic Poem

How wilt thou open on my gaze,
Beloved valley? Ah, how strange!
Yet, since so oft in childhood's days
I saw thee, thou hast known no change.
The setting sun hath vanished now,
But brightens still yon torrent's spray;
No breezes come to cool my brow,
Yet through yon wood they softly stray.

Again doth olden love inspire,
Again old hopes their joys impart,
I feel the old poetic fire
Revive this cold and withered heart.
Sweet scenes! I need such hours as this,
Such soothing, such love-breathing hours,
To make this heart regain its bliss
And strengthen all its drooping powers.

When next the world shall make me grieve,
Again I'll seek thee, tranquil vale;
Thy minstrel faint with woes receive,
And soothe, as now, his heavy bale!
And if I sink, worn out by pain,
With fracture light thy soil divide,
Receive me, close the cleft again,
And let fresh grass its traces hide.