Classic Poem

Ah me! what battles I have fought!
I would I knew the rune that lays
The swarming shades of weary days
That take the lonely House of Thought!
A restless rabble, unsubdued;
A wild, and haggard multitude;
Distorted shapes that spring from tears,
And torments born of wedded fears.

Sometimes, amid the changing rout,
A rainbowed figure glides about,
And from her brightness, like the day,
The whimpling shadows slink away.
I know that lyre of seven strings,
The seven colors of her wings,
The seven blossoms of her crown:
There pansies twine for amethyst;
Small lilies white as silkweed down;
There myrtle sprays her locks have kissed
And larkspurs that are beryl-blue;
And varied roses, rich of hue;
With iridescent, loving eyes
Of buds that bloom in Paradise.

Come often, thou ethereal child!
New-string thy lyre and sing to me.
Thy voice, ecstatic, fresh, and wild,
Enthralls each dark-browed phantasy.

Beyond the walls she bids me peer
To see a Future, dim and dear,
Sweet faces shining through the mist,
Like children waiting to be kissed;
A lovely land that knows not pain;
Atlantis land beyond life's main,
Where we who love may love again:
Ah me! is this beyond the plan
Of God's beneficence to man?