Classic Poem

While autumn flashed from woods of gold
Her challenge to the setting sun,
And storm-clouds, breaking, seaward rolled
O'er brightening waves, their passion done,
The linnets on a rain-washed beech
So thronged I saw not branch for bird:
My skill is scant in forest speech
But thus they sang or thus I heard.

'Twas all a dream—the wrong, the strife,
The scorn, the blow, the loss, the pain!
Immortal gladness, love and life
Alone are lords by right and reign:
The earth is tossed about as though
Young angels tossed a cowslip ball;
But, rough or level, high or low,
What matter? God is all in all.