Classic Poem

Those shining leaves that lisped and shook
All darkness from them, sensate leaves
In Nature's never-ending book;
Leaves full of truth as garnered sheaves
That hold till seed-time fruitful seed,
To grow as grows some small good deed.

How strangely and how vastly still!
The harvest moon hung low and large,
And drew across the dreamful hill,
Like some huge star-bound, freighted barge;
Some strange, new, neighbor-world it surely seemed,
The while he gazed and dreamed, yet scarcely dreamed.