Classic Poem

Long ago a sweet musician,
On a Thracian plain at noon,
In the golden drowse of summer
Played so heavenly a tune:

That the very hills and forests
To its chords their audience lent,
And the streams were hushed to listen
To this wondrous instrument.

And stilled was all the murmur
Of sweetest winds at noon,
And babbling brooks along their beds
Hushed their melodious tune.

The gales that from the ocean came
To kiss the summer lands,
Fell dying at the harmony
That floated from his hands.

And youth forgot its passion,
And age forgot its woe,
And life forgot that there was death
Before such music's flow.

And there was hush of laughter,
Where sported youth and maid,
And those who wept forgot their tears
While such sweet notes were played.

Yea, life was stayed a season,
Ambition, Greed and Crime,
And Hate and Lust crept shuddering, 'neath
The curtain folds of time.

And war in its 'mid battle hushed
Upon the 'sanguined plain,
The sword and spear uplifted 'mid
The slayer and the slain.

While even the gods of heaven sank
From their divine abode,
Drawn downward by the magic dreams
That from his fingers flowed.