Classic Poem

Amongst the thunder-splintered caves,
On ocean's long and windy shore,
I catch the voice of dying waves
Below the ridges old and hoar;

The spray descends in silver showers,
And lovely whispers come and go,
Like echoes from the happy hours
I never more may hope to know!

The moonlight dreams upon the sail
That drives the restless ship to sea;
The clouds troop past the mountain vale,
And sink like spirits down the lee;

Why comes thy voice, thou lonely One,
Along the wild harp's wailing strings?
Have not our hours of meeting gone,
Like fading dreams on phantom wings?

Are not the grasses round thy grave
Yet springing green and fresh to view?
And does the gleam on Ocean's wave
Tide gladness now to me and you?