Classic Poem

We traveled through the soundless night
And breathed the fragrant June,
Tumultous fragrance, flooded bright
With an unwaning moon;
Till from the whitened field the wood
Rose dark along the hill, —
And there with sudden joy we stood
To hear thee, whip-poor-will!

O Bird, O Wonder! Long and high
Thy measured question calls!
I marvel, till thy perfect cry
Almost too perfect falls.

What art thou singing, voice divine,
Heart of the poignant night?
What utter loveliness is thine,
Of suffering or delight?

Delight too lovely, all but pain,
Would thy frail spirit pour?
Would sorrow, in thy perfect strain,
Be joy forevermore?

Thou hadst no answer but thy song —
Clear as the soft June light,
Sweet as the fragrant earth, and long
As that immortal night.