Classic Poem

" WHAT hearest thou?
That swelling sigh and slow-rebellious moan
Is the weir water talking all alone,
The water, as at dusk through centuries flown,
More audible now.

" Once more thou seest
The sun far off surrendering his tired head
Into the seas of sleep? his royal red
Shall soon salute the shepherds, comfort spread
Through a clear east.

" Thou feelest — nothing
But airs dark-fluttering from the bulrush-grove,
Moth-like; and may not evening zephyrs rove?
Or mist-veil brushed thee, fine as yet was wove
For moonmaid's clothing. "

" Turn thy dear brow
Full towards me, with thy young strong arm infold,
For I am trapped, on a sudden made centuries old;
Warm me a little, the mist clings deadly cold
That veils me now. "