Classic Poem

TO MISS C. D.

I T fell down through the still, enchanted air
Like rain-drops trickling down through summer leaves
In some shade-saddened, silent forest, where
The spirit of fantastic beauty weaves
The dear, dead dreams of love and past despair
That have made wreck of men and maidens fair
In days that are gone by:
And the gladness,
So like sadness,
Moved my soul to minstrel madness:
Laughing, sighing, wailing, crying,
All the weeping world seemed dying,
Dying; and well pleased to die.