Classic Poem

The sun I worship.
Not for the light, but for the shadows of the trees he draws
O shadows welcome like an angel's bower,
Where I build Summer-day dream!
Not for her love, but for the love's memory,
The woman I adore;
Love may die, but not for the memory eternally green
The well where I drink Spring ecstasy
To a bird's song I listen,
Not for the voice, but for the silence following after the song.
O Silence fresh from the bosom of voice! —
Melody from the Death-Land whither my face does ever turn!