Classic Poem

Blue is the sky as ever, and the stars
Kindle their crystal flames at soft-fallen Eve
With the same purest lustre that the East
Worshipt; the river gently flows through fields
Wherein the broad-leaved corn spreads out and loads
Its ear, as when its Indian tilled the soil;
The dark green pine, green in the winter's cold,
Still whispers meaning emblems as of old;
The cricket chirps, and the sweet, eager birds
In the sad woods crowd their thick melodies;
But yet, to common eyes, life's poesy
Something has faded.

The Summer's breath, that laughed among the flowers,
Caressed the tender blades of the soft grass,
And o'er thy dear form with its joy did pass,
Has left us now. These are but Autumn-hours,

And in their melancholy vestures glass
A feeling that belongs to deeper powers
Than haunt the warm-eyed June or spring-time showers —
The destiny of them like us, alas!

Think not of Time; there is a better sphere
Rising above these cold and shadowy days —
A softer music than the gray clouds hear,
That spread their flying sails above our ways,
Where rustle in the breeze the thin leaves sere,
Or on the leaden air dance in swift maze.