Classic Poem

Summer. Under the cool spring baths,
About the forest and o'er hanging twigs,
We felt the deep rain of chills and
Earthly joys, with mingled exhilarations
Reality conceived! But strength, unknown
Reaper of the pen, clears melancholy's
Creation and wears renaissance' robe.
The sweeping sea-gust swept o'er the
Spring blossoms, vast, beyond the
Hills of ice and snow, causing the
Early ground to appear in raw soil,
The great hay gatherers' wild yells
And the picnic parties' merriment
As content of unfelt, unburdened toil.