Classic Poem

What though my plodding pen may fail,
And all my lines seem poor, and pale?
I know what's in my heart to say,
And that illumines all my day;
And in the wood the tall pines form
An audience steadfast and warm;
And as my halting measures rise
The breezes answer with their sighs;
The birds make answer to my song
Despite my note is far from strong;
And in the hills an Echo free
Repeats my measures after me!