Classic Poem

O weary wind, be still, be still;
Such bitter woe is in thy cry;
All the lost dreams of all the world
On thy dark wings go by.

Thou voice of heart-ache, let me rest!
Lo, thou hast gathered up the tears,
The sobs and manifold despairs,
Of earth's unnumbered years.

Art thou the voice of Nature's pain—
Or bearest thou, with dawning day,
The message of a lonely heart
Too many leagues away?