Classic Poem

It comes once more! I turn and flee,
And wave it backward, all in vain;
It knows my pathways,—woe is me!
On, on, across the fields I strain,
And through the forests, where the trees
Lock all their branches; but I hear
A whisper on the wandering breeze,
And know the haunting shape is near.

Within the city's crowded street,
I strive to hide me from my foe;
Where many hearts so gaily beat,
I surely may with courage go.
I should be glad, the sun is high;
I would not harm the slightest thing,
And God himself is in the sky,
And all His angels on the wing.

I do not know, sometimes I think
A friend may come in strange disguise,
With some clear draught for me to drink,
As life's most wonderful surprise;
That in some near or distant day,
The thing I fear may take my hand
And draw me close, and smile, and say,
“At last, at last, you understand!”

It comes once more! I turn and flee,
And wave it backward, all in vain;
It knows my pathways,—woe is me!
On, on, across the fields I strain,
And through the forests, where the trees
Lock all their branches; but I hear
A whisper on the wandering breeze,
And know the haunting shape is near.

Within the city's crowded street,
I strive to hide me from my foe;
Where many hearts so gaily beat,
I surely may with courage go.
I should be glad, the sun is high;
I would not harm the slightest thing,
And God himself is in the sky,
And all His angels on the wing.

I do not know, sometimes I think
A friend may come in strange disguise,
With some clear draught for me to drink,
As life's most wonderful surprise;
That in some near or distant day,
The thing I fear may take my hand
And draw me close, and smile, and say,
“At last, at last, you understand!”