Classic Poem

O H ! say not, thoughtless! that thine eyes
To nature's charms are blind;
That in her soul-strung harmonies
Thine ears no music find;
That all her thousand sympathies
Are strangers to thy mind.

Is there no freshness in the breeze
When morning's light is shed;
Is there no beauty in the trees
With green boughs garlanded;
And hast thou not in books like these,
Thy sweetest lessons read?

Is there no fragrance to thy sense,
When summer's south-wind throws
Upon the air the redolence
Of every bursting rose;
And gentle, fanning gales dispense
A breath of deep repose?

And does thy soul no rapture feel,
When rolling loud and deep,
Thou listenest to the thunder peal
Upon some cavern'd steep,
And feel'st the shock'd earth sickly reel
Beneath thy daring feet?

And canst thou gaze with unchang'd eye,
On shapes in beauty made;
On those whose hearts are purity,
And eyes are brightly ray'd?
Is all such stainless sanctity,
To thee a voiceless shade?

Oh! erring one! though thou may'st spurn
These treasures, and deride
Their richness, and, vain-hearted, turn
From all their hopes aside,
The time will come when thou shalt learn
To rue thy worldly pride.

O H ! say not, thoughtless! that thine eyes
To nature's charms are blind;
That in her soul-strung harmonies
Thine ears no music find;
That all her thousand sympathies
Are strangers to thy mind.

Is there no freshness in the breeze
When morning's light is shed;
Is there no beauty in the trees
With green boughs garlanded;
And hast thou not in books like these,
Thy sweetest lessons read?

Is there no fragrance to thy sense,
When summer's south-wind throws
Upon the air the redolence
Of every bursting rose;
And gentle, fanning gales dispense
A breath of deep repose?

And does thy soul no rapture feel,
When rolling loud and deep,
Thou listenest to the thunder peal
Upon some cavern'd steep,
And feel'st the shock'd earth sickly reel
Beneath thy daring feet?

And canst thou gaze with unchang'd eye,
On shapes in beauty made;
On those whose hearts are purity,
And eyes are brightly ray'd?
Is all such stainless sanctity,
To thee a voiceless shade?

Oh! erring one! though thou may'st spurn
These treasures, and deride
Their richness, and, vain-hearted, turn
From all their hopes aside,
The time will come when thou shalt learn
To rue thy worldly pride.