Classic Poem

I do not know why I should go about
Steeped in the shadows of a long ago
When here is April come without a doubt,
And here are buds importunate to blow.
The moss-pinks and forget-me-nots are out
Together with the hawthorne, white as snow;
And here are jonquils after winter's rout
Victorious with golden overthrow.

But I am wedded to some bygone day
Whose dreads and dearness, silences and sounds,
Make dim for me the trumpets of this May;
And where my heart might break beyond its bounds
To gather in this loveliness, I stray
Further and further into dead profounds.