Classic Poem

Southward, the fragrant orchards droop,
Beyond — familiar mountains rise;
The Autumn stays her purple ruth
While to the hush the wild brook cries
Those sweet old canticles of youth.
The highway lingers, leans and climbs,
Summer — a wild rose in her hair —
Her whilom gipsy lover calls
To rocky hillside pastures, where
The gaze breaks wide o'er crumbling walls —
Down ferny gorge and pine-girt ridge
To hazy slopes of afternoon,
Emerald distance, azure, gold —
Dreaming beneath a harvest moon
Of sheep bells winding to the fold.

Old earth, old heaven well beloved,
Each peak in fancy mirrored clear,
Where I have met each marching Spring,
As wild goose of the yester-year,
Back to your heart my own I bring
In vain! This acreage of peace
Goes blind of beauty or romance —
For burnt into my eyes I see
Only the mangled fields of France,
And Death — the reaper — gleaning agony.