Classic Poem

Far away from the valley below,
Like the roar in a shell of the sea
Or the flow of the river at night,
Comes the voice strangely sweet of the pines.

Snowy clouds, sometimes white, sometimes dark,
Like the joys and the sorrows of life,
Sail above, half becalmed in the blue;
And their cool shadows lie on the hills.

Here and there, when the leaves blow apart,
To admit sunny winds seeking rest
In the shade with their burden of sweets,
Piney Creek shimmers bright, with a cloud

Or a patch of the sky on its breast;
Here the din and the strife of the mart
And the gabble of lips that profane
Are heard not, and the heart is made pure.

Far away from the valley below,
Like the roar in a shell of the sea
Or the flow of the river at night,
Comes the voice strangely sweet of the pines.

Snowy clouds, sometimes white, sometimes dark,
Like the joys and the sorrows of life,
Sail above, half becalmed in the blue;
And their cool shadows lie on the hills.

Here and there, when the leaves blow apart,
To admit sunny winds seeking rest
In the shade with their burden of sweets,
Piney Creek shimmers bright, with a cloud

Or a patch of the sky on its breast;
Here the din and the strife of the mart
And the gabble of lips that profane
Are heard not, and the heart is made pure.