Classic Poem

I DWELT in a bright land, far away—
A beautiful morning land,
Where the winds and wild birds sung all day,
And the waves, repeating their roundelay,
Danced over the golden sand.

I know the paths o'er its low, green hills,
The banks where its violets grow,
The osier clumps by its laughing rills,
And the odor its every flower distils,
Though I left it long ago.

I know where the sibyl Summer weaves
The charm of her sweetest spell;
Where the soft south wind and the low-voiced leaves
Make a touching plaint, like a sprite that grieves
In the heart of a rose-lipped shell.

I know the cliff where the lichen clings,
And the crimson berries grow;
Where the mists are woven in rainbow rings,
And the cascade leaps with its snowy wings
To the shadowy pool below.

But, alas! for me its pleasant bowers,
And the radiant bloom they wore,
The birds that sung, and the sunny showers
That kissed the lips of the fair young flowers,
Are never, nevermore!

Ah, no! the heart that has learned for years,
The lore of sorrow and pain;
The eyes bedimmed by time and tears,
The lips grown pale with unspoken fears,
Can never return again.

Yet, Eden home of the Eden time,
When my lonely heart rebels,
Thy voices come, through the rust and rime
Of the weary world, like the soothing chime
Of distant Sabbath bells.

And when my path in the future seems
With clouds and darkness rife,
I wander away, in my waking dreams,
To thy dewy bowers and sunny streams
Sweet Morning Land of Life.