Classic Poem

FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO.

How seems this garden, with its depths of shade
And verdurous, vaulted aisles, for worship made;
Where every blossom bows its head in prayer,
Or swings its censer on the silent air;
Where the slow footsteps of the Summer Hours
From dawn till dusk descend on opening flowers,
And, as they pass, with light and shade by turns,
Fill the cool hollows of the marble urns.
A holy rapture thrills me while I gaze
Up the blue heavens through the o'ershadowing maze;
Or sit long hours in sweet monastic dreams,
Where o'er its rocky bed the river streams,
In the long grotto, dusky, cool and dim,
Where ivies cluster round the fountain's brim.