Classic Poem

I HAVE admired in nights of sound,
When skies ran tatter overhead,
To hear an elm-tree brought to ground
Or grind its boughs in dread;

But there's a poplar at my door,
A frail and hesitating shade,
With half a breath can move me more,
More powerfully persuade.

And I have stared on a sky of gold
At fleecy ships that, one by one,
With hopes of mine in every hold,
Sailed to the dipping Sun;

But the dark pomp he left behind, —
The promise of a mournful king, —
Was questioned by a soundless wind
And aspens answering.