Classic Poem

The pale, green moon the sky-line light is making,
baring the fields, that night hid from the eyes,
and the meandering stream. With sound of sighs
the wave upon the lonely bridge is breaking.

Where is the sea that calls it? where the fountain
that hesitates and murmurs mid the greens?
The stream flows ever on in leaping gleams
unto the sea unknown, from unknown mountain.

The moon breaks forth. To her rise upward, listening,
tall cypress trees beside the river grey,
swaying together, as in whispered prayers.

The flowing clouds before her pause, white glistening,
as up they climb along the unseen way
over the azure temple's infinite stairs.