Classic Poem

'Tis sweet to sit beneath these walnut trees,
And pore upon the sun in splendour sinking,
And think upon the wond'rous mysteries
Of this so lovely world, until, with thinking,
Thought is bewilder'd, and the spirit, shrinking
Into itself, no outward object sees,
Still, from its inward fount, new visions drinking,
Till the sense swims in dreamy reveries

Awaking from this trance, with gentle start,
'Tis sweeter still to feel th' o'erflowing heart
Shoot its glad gushes to the thrilling cheek;
To feel as if the yearning soul would dart
Upwards to God, and by its flutters speak
Homage, for which all language is too weak.