Classic Poem

That from nowhere settles impressions,
Gleam, O thou dost aid the muse
Below to drain his soulful
Desire from the strings of thine
All-power and, sudden, claim
The deep romance of spiritual
Guide, the never-ceasing fluttering
Bird of forest and eagle high.
The horizon hues give vent
To thousand lofty thoughts of poetry.
The floating marble-like clouds
Form incomprehensive molds;
But the lowly eye views this all
And, from within, peals its classic melancholy folds.