Classic Poem

Full many a peaceful place I've seen,
But the most restful spot I know
Is one where thick dark cedars grow
In an old graveyard cool and green.

The way to the sequestered place
Is arched with boughs of that sad tree,
And there the trivial step of glee
Must sober to a pensive pace.

How oft I've trod that shadowy way
In bygone years — sometimes while yet
The grass with morning dew was wet,
And sometimes at the close of day,

And sometimes when the summer noon
Hung like a slumberous midnight spell —
Sometimes when through the dark trees fell
The sacred whiteness of the moon.

Then is the hour to wander there,
When moonlight silvers tree and stone
And in the soft night wind is blown
Ethereal essence subtly rare.

At such an hour the angels tread
That hollowed spot in stoles as white
As lilies, and in silent flight
They come and go till dawn is red.