Classic Poem

Like flame-wing'd harps the seed blooms lie
Amid the shadowy sycamores,
The music of each leaflet's sigh
Thrills them continually,
The small harps of the sycamores.

Small birds innumerable find rest
And shelter 'midst the sycamores.
Their songs (of love in a warm soft nest)
Are faintly echoed east and west
By the red harps o' the sycamores.

The dewfall and the starshine make
Amidst the shadowy sycamores
Sweet delicate strains; the gold beams shake
The leaves at morn, and swift awake
The small harps of the sycamores.

O sweet Earth's music everywhere,
Though faint as in the sycamores
Sweet when buds burst, birds pair;
Sweet when as thus there wave in the air
The red harps of the sycamores.