Classic Poem

Let me give something!—though my spring be done,
Give to the children, ere their summertime:
Though stirred with grief, like rain let fall my rhyme
And tell of one whose aim was much, of one
Whose strife was this: that in his thought should be
Some power of wind, some drenching of the sea,
Some drift of stars across a darkling coast,
Imagination, insight, memory, awe,
And dear New England nature first and last,—
Whose end was high, whose work was well-begun:
Of one who from his window looked and saw
His little hemlocks in the morning sun,
And while he gazed, into his heart almost
The peace that passeth understanding passed.