Classic Poem

I WALKED the fields at morning prime, —
The grass was ripe for mowing;
The sky-lark sang his matin chime,
And all the world was glowing.

I wander'd forth at noon, — alas,
On earth's maternal bosom
The scythe had left the withering grass,
And stretch'd the faded blossom.

Once more at eve abroad I stray'd,
Through lonely hay-fields musing,
While every breeze that round me play'd
The perfume was diffusing.

And so the " actions of the just, "
When memory has enshrined them,
Breathe upward from decay and dust,
And leave sweet scent behind them.