Classic Poem

I have had tearful days,
I have been taught by melancholy hours,
My tears have dropped, like these chill Autumn showers,
Upon the rustling ways.

Yes! youth, thou sorrowest,
For these dead leaves, unlike your rising Morn,
Are the sad progeny of months forlorn,
Weary and seeking rest.

Thou wert a homeless child,
And vainly clasped the solitary air,
And the gray Ash renewed thy cold despair,—
Grief was thy mother mild.

Thy days have Sunlight now,
Those Autumn leaves thy tears do not deplore,
There flames a beacon on the forest's shore,
And thy unwrinkled brow.

O holy are the Woods,
Where nature yearly glorifies her might,
And weaves a rich and frolicsome delight.
In the deep Solitudes.

Far through the fading trees
The Pine's green plume is waving bright and free,
And in the withered age of man to me
A warm and sweet Spring breeze.