Classic Poem

When I crossed from France to Germany
'Twas the mournful month and dreary
When November winds are stripping bare
The forests worn and weary.

As we drew towards the boundary
I felt my pulses leaping
Within my bosom for delight;
I think I started weeping.

And when I heard the German tongue,
'Twas with such curious gladness
I seemed to feel my heart's blood ebb
Without regret or sadness.

A little maiden with a harp
Entuned a common ditty;
The voice was false, but the pathos true;
It touched my heart to pity.

She sang of love and lovers' woes,
Of loss, and fates that sever,
Of meetings in a better land
Where grief is purged for ever.

She sang our mortal vale of tears,
The joys that end in sadness,
The world where souls, redeemed at last,
Attain eternal gladness.

She sang the epopee of heaven,
The song of loss and sighing,
With which they lull the populace,
Big booby! when it's crying.

I know the song, the text, and the men
Who wrote the song, and taught her;
I know that in private they drank their wine,
And preached in public water.

I will write you a new, a sweeter song;
You shall sing it without a quaver;
We will build the kingdom of heaven on earth
'Tis a better plan and a braver.

We shall then be happy and starve no more:
We whom the earth was spoiled for;
No longer shall lazy bellies waste
What busy hands have toiled for.

Oh, here below there's not only food
In abundance for every comer,
But beauty and pleasure and lollipops,
And the myrtle and rose of summer.

The sugar plums, as soon as they're ripe,
Shall to each and all be given,
And angels and sparrows may have our share
Of the vague delights of heaven.

And if after death our wings should sprout,
We'll pay you a visit with pleasure,
And help you to eat your tarts and cakes,
And similar laid up treasure.

As sweet as the viol and flute shall ring
My song, when that other's supplanted.
The passing bell shall be tolled no more,
Nor the Miserere chanted.

To the Genius of Freedom, Europe, the Maid,
Her virgin heart has yielded;
They have plighted their troth, and, heart on heart,
With a first fond kiss have sealed it.

And a wedding true it will be, though the priest
May pronounce no blessing hollow.
Long live the bridegroom and the bride,
And the children that shall follow!

Oh, a wedding song is this new song;
There's gladness in every line there;
And stars, at the Holy Sacrament,
Arise in my soul, and shine there.

They are rapturous stars that blaze and pass
In streams of flame and wonder —
I feel such vigour in my blood
I could split the oaks asunder.

They are rapturous stars that blaze and pass
In streams of flame and wonder —
I feel such vigour in my blood
I could split the oaks asunder.