Classic Poem

The other day I chanced to see
By an old lot a cherry tree,
An old wild cherry blooming brightly,
A sight of joy in the unsightly.
It sprayed the air with April snow
As merrily as long ago
When every little wind that blew
Could bend it, and with blossoms strew
The garden or the shaven lawn.
The lot was bare, the house was gone;
And yet the brave old tree bloomed on.

Bravo! I cried. You make me think
Of some old Roman soused in drink
His wreath awry upon his head,
For all that, primely chapleted;
Or that gowned man who loved to foster
My waking wits, Tyrrellus noster .
I like the rings upon your rind
Suggesting hoops. They bring to mind
Barrels and kilderkins enough
To stillion the Septembral stuff.
How do you keep your sap so young?
If I could only break in song
As you in bloom, and disregard
Ruin around this old back yard,
I'd raise such foison of sweet sound
That trees would jig it on the ground;
Kettles and garbage cans would swirl:
You'd think that Orpheus found his girl;
Or that this old daft heart of mine
Improved, as it grew old, like wine.
I feel the soul within me sing;
By God, I'm grateful for the Spring
That makes all fading seem illusion;
The foam, the fullness, the profusion;
For every lovely thing misplaced;
The bloom, the brightness and the waste!