Classic Poem

When the world is all forgot,
We shall rest us, you and I;
The violet and forget-me-not
There shall bloom; the butterfly
There shall sun his satin sails
In the dying summer gales,
And there hum the wandering bee
His fine noontide melody.

Far away the village bell
Oft shall thrill the throbbing air;
But of bridal or of knell,
Little shall we dream or care;
While at night the winds shall tell
Of the dead and how they fare;
But we shall not hear their talk,
Or the ghosts that round us walk.

When the freezing streamlet grieves,
And the days are boisterous,
Shall the alders drop their leaves,
Like mute mourners over us;
But we shall not wake or stir,
At the sighing of the fir,
Safe from winter's rude alarms,
Locked in one anothers arms!

By and by, in a little time,
We shall cross our hands to rest,
Folded in a trance sublime,
By the streams that we love best,
And the far off world shall seem
Like a long-forgotten dream,
While the ages come and go,
Leaving us together, so.