Classic Poem

The earth has fallen from its old estate
Of understanding between fay and faun,
Dryad and mortal are not intimate;
A classic gate is locked, a key is gone.
And yet, to some, on any west wind blown
Comes reminiscent fragrance of white phlox
There is a race whose foreign eyes have known
The quiet that a garden gate unlocks.
Now dreamers go on melancholy ways
Who those sequestered paths no more may tread;
Grave exiles from an avatistic maze
From leisure of the enviable dead,
While sea-fog hides away fantastic coasts
Until returns the spell of gods and ghosts.