Classic Poem

Behold, the triumphing Sun looks forth again!
The angry clouds which murmured at his will,
O'ercome by his kind smile, have wept a rain
Of penitent tears, and the storm's gust is still,
We may now leave our leafy-dark retreat,
And shape our course as was our first intent; —
The grass is fresh and lusty, and our feet
Skim o'er't like fairies', leaving it unbent.
The wanton, busy-handed Zephyrs raise
The heavy-swaying branches from our heads;
And now we pass beneath them, and the breeze
As gently falls them down again, and sheds
Its gems on thee, uplooking like a flower —
Or Danai sprinkled by a silvery shower.