Classic Poem

Yes: thou art still alive. The summer forests hold thee:
The sombre clouds of night and morning's mists enfold thee:
Though thou art not with me
The great world has thee safe. Its golden-smiling meadows
Caress thee, and thy laugh sounds ringing through the shadows
That fall at even over the dim sea.

It is not much to know; yet something is it, even
If one's own soul be far,—past language far,—from heaven,
To know that it is there.
Ah me! the sight that I, each starry night, would die for
The stars and blossoms gain, though this they never sigh for,
Content with visions of the eyeless air.