Classic Poem

May you go to find it? You must, I fear;
Ah, lighted young eyes, could I show you how —
" Is it past those lilies that look so near? "
It is past all flowers. Will you listen, now?

The pretty new moons faded out of the sky,
The bees and butterflies out of the air,
And sweet wild songs would flutter and fly
Into wet dark leaves and the snow's white glare.

There were winds and shells full of lonesome cries,
There were lightnings and mists along the way,
And the deserts would glitter against my eyes,
Where the beautiful phantom-fountains play.

At last, in a place very dusty and bare,
Some little dead birds I had petted to sing,
Some little dead flowers I had gather'd to wear,
Some wither'd thorns and an empty ring,

Lay scatter'd. My fairy story is told.
(It does not please her: she has not smiled.)
What is it you say? — Did I find the gold?
Why, I found the End of the Rainbow, child!