Classic Poem

Man is a monk among forgetful trees.
Never the sunrise nor the moon's false light
Can touch the hidden heart's cool ecstasies
By changing night to day or day to night.
Deep in this tunnel of dusky elms the mind
Disembodies the flesh of all confusion.
No god is here nor fretful humankind.
The soul can dream a dream to its conclusion.

There must have been a time on this old Cape
When hurricanes drove whalers off the sea.
Men must have yearned for some more constant shape
And planted their seed nearer eternity.
But just as the hermit sighs, How near, how far? —
Modernity speeds through in a motor car.