Classic Poem

What power has caused the ocean swell,
Like startled sleep, to flee?
What conquering Thessalian spell
Breathed on the raging sea,
To sudden rest hath bowed and bent
The soul of the wild element?

Nothing is there, save one sweet bird,
Yet as she glideth on,
With wing that moves through heaven unheard,
Wave after wave is won,
Under her shadow soft to lie
Lulled into clear tranquillity.

It is the halcyon, holy thing!
To whom the gods have given,
That the sea should smile beneath her wing,
And reflect the bright blue heaven
Unsullied, and serenely fair,
As the dreams of my youthful spirit were.

The halcyon flitteth to and fro,
Above the charmèd sea;
My thoughts like troubled waters flow,
Why comes she not to me?
Why calms she not the waves of pain,
Which vex this weary heart and brain?

My harp is silent at my side,
It has been silent long;
Vainly these trembling hands have tried
To wake it into song.
My heart is full of one desire—
One dream—one fever-fit—one fire.

My cheek is wan—my pulse is low,
With waiting here alone;
I cannot stay, I cannot go.
Oh! that the day were done;
Oh! that some god my soul would steep
In slumber motionless and deep.

Oh bear me to some forest glade,
Far from this glaring sun,
Where, dark with overhanging shade,
The fresh cold waters run;
And I will weep the flame away
Which burns within me night and day.