Classic Poem

Why do I sing no more? The leaping fountains
That laugh in glee when Summer paints the flowers,
Perish and die when with her glorious beauty
She wanders southward to serener bowers.

Why do I sing no more? The wild-bird warbling
Beneath the splendid midnight skies of June,
Hushes her love-song, when their starry glory
Is blinded by the work-day glare of noon.

Why do I sing no more? The evening zephyr
That plays with unseen fingers on the air,
Filling the forest with his witching story
Of passion for the wild-rose listening there —

Sinks into silence when the grim November
Blasts the fair blossom on her royal stem;
Or wailing wild among the leafless branches,
Sings only Sorrow's broken requiem.

And I — the glad, low tones thy presence wakened,
How can I tune them, now thou art away?
As well invoke the spirit of the fountain
When Winter rules where Spring was wont to play.

Through the still midnight, sitting at my window
With face uplifted to the starry skies,
I gaze and gaze, until their silver glances
Seem the calm splendour of thy radiant eyes;

And listening still, the while my tears are falling,
To the soft cadence of the murmuring breeze,
I hear again thy low and tender whispers
Floating beneath the dim and shadowy trees.

Give me again the blessing of thy presence —
Give me the summer brightness of thine eyes,
And like the breeze, the bird, the leaping fountain,
My soul in song will make its glad replies.