Classic Poem

Here in the quiet chambers that I love
Evening falls gently; from the garden, cries
Of laughing children float; and high above
The old roofs, toward the western glow, there flies
A swallow from the south thus early come
To seek a summer that is still a dream.
The chestnut buds to woolly pods have grown
Green-lit beyond the window where I lean.
Summer is singing, and the night is still
With listening to that song; I too, oppressed
By some old faith in beauty, yield my will
To that which lights the gold lights of the west, —
And long for summer though it come again
With dreams of beauty and with proof of pain.