Classic Poem

(1)

It may be on a quiet mountain-top,
Or in a valley folding among hills
You take your path; and often you will stop.

To hear the chattering of pleasant rills;
The piping of a wind in branches green;
The murmuring of widely-lifted spray.

As the long boughs swing; or hear the twittering
Of drowsy birds, when the great sun is seen
Climbing the steep of darkness to the day.

(2)

The lovely moon trailing a silver dress
By quiet waters! Each living star
Moving apart in holy quietness,

Sphere over golden sphere, moving afar,
These I can see:
And the unquiet zone,

Rolling in snow along the edge of sight:
The world is fair indeed; and I am free
To see its beauty; and to be.

In solitude; and quite forget, and quite
Lose out of memory all I have known
But this.

(3)

Straying apart in sad and mournful way;
Alone, or with my heart for company:
Keeping the tone of a dejected day,

And a bewilderment that came to me;
I said—The Spring will never come again,
And there is the end of everything—

Day after day
The sap will ebb away,
From the great tree,

And, when the sap is gone,
All piteously
She'll tumble to the clay:

And we say only—Such, or such a one
Had pleasant shade
But there is end of her—

(4)

And you, and even you, the year
Will drain and dry,
And make to disappear!

Then in my heart there came so wild a stir;
And such great pity and astonishment;
And such a start of fear and woe had I,

That where I went I did not know!
And only this did know,
That you could die!

(5)

I would have liked to sing from fuller throat
To you who sang so well; but here I stay,
Resting the music on a falling note;

And hear it die away, and die away,
With beauty unrehearsed,
And life and love unsung.

For I had clung,
—With what of laughter and of eagerness!—
Unto the hope that I might chance to be.

Master of Song! And, singing, be no less
Than those great poets of antiquity,
Who sang of clouds and hills; of stars and clods;

Of trees and streams; and the mind and soul of man;
And chaunted too the universal gods,
And love that is or ever time began;

And did not fail before a theme
Although
It passed the reason.

(6)

I heard a bird sing in the woods to-day
A failing song:
The times had caught on him!

In autumn boughs he tried a wonted lay;
And was abashed to find his music grim
As the crow's song.

Then, when I raised an air
To comfort him,
I wretched was to hear.

The crow did croak
And chatter everywhere
Within my ear.

(7)

And so,
Behold!
I am a saddened elf!

And, as a deer
Flies timidly to shade,
I fly to laughter and I hide myself!

And couch me in the coverts that I made
Against those bold ambitions,
And forswear.

The palm, the prize, or what of gear instead
A poet gets with his appointed share
Of beer and bread.

(8)

Upon the grass I drop this tuneful reed,
And turn from it aside! And turn from more
That I had fancied to be mine indeed,
Beyond all reclamation. See the door.

Set in the boundary wall yawns windily!
It will be shut when I have wandered through!
And open will no more again for me
This side of life, whatever thing I do!

And so good-bye! And so good-night to you!
And farewell all! Behold the lifted hand!
And the long last look upon the view!
And the last glimpse of that most lovely land!

And thus away unto the mundane sphere,
And look not back again nor turn anew,
And hear no more that laughter at the ear!
And sing no more to you.