Classic Poem

What whistle that among these mountains tall,
This song that slid from heaven unaware
Into the cañon of this lightless hall
A flying music to the thoroughfare?
What broke that bell against the craggy wall?
What chirp of gold is that on morning's wing?
What voice of God out from the dawn to call
The music and the beauty of the spring?

And why should spring come into Wall Street's valley?
No roses and no daffodils show gold;
The smothered skies slide by the peaks and towers,
But in the gloom a whistle in that alley
Makes bells across the frosty April cold,
And music sings on as among the flowers.