Classic Poem

I rambled alone in the marsh;
The clouds hung forbidding and harsh;
The ruts of the mean road bristled below
Their tatters of slushy snow.
Ebbing trickles of salt creek spread
Sad, colourless, dull as lead.
The brightness had fallen from the grass,
And the sparkle had flown from the bay;
No beauty nor cheer were left, alas!
Trusty nature had failed me to-day;
Her heartening word remained unspoken;
I thought her inviolate tryst was broken.

Suddenly dawned the wonderful hour;
I drank deep breaths of the primal power,
And the tides of my being began to glow
Like westerly surf when the sun is low.

My casements flew open that I might see
The magic, the worth and the mystery
Of runnel and sedge and gaunt-limbed tree.

From my work-a-day wrappings of murky cloud
I burst, as a man who should wake in his shroud
Might burst through the ring of the sorrowing crowd.
My plod grew buoyant, my vision, keen;
The river was glossed with a lacquery sheen.
Though the swords of the sun could not slash through,
Each puddle was dreaming of turquoise blue.
Transmuted to amber the wet ruts lay,
And the mean marsh road was a royal way.