Classic Poem

At last, my white Narcissus is in bloom;
Each blossom sheds a wondrous fragrance. Lo!
From over bleak December's waste of snow,
In summer garments, lightly thro' the gloom,
Comes June to claim the truant in my room;
With her the airs of sunny meadows come,
And in the apple boughs I hear the hum
Of bees; in all the valleys, brooks resume,
'Twixt greening banks, their mumurous melody;
The sunlight bursts in splendor in the blue,
And soon the narrow walls confining me
Recede into the distance from my view;
My spirit in the summer's largeness grows,
And every thorn is hidden by the rose.

At last, my white Narcissus is in bloom;
Each blossom sheds a wondrous fragrance. Lo!
From over bleak December's waste of snow,
In summer garments, lightly thro' the gloom,
Comes June to claim the truant in my room;
With her the airs of sunny meadows come,
And in the apple boughs I hear the hum
Of bees; in all the valleys, brooks resume,
'Twixt greening banks, their mumurous melody;
The sunlight bursts in splendor in the blue,
And soon the narrow walls confining me
Recede into the distance from my view;
My spirit in the summer's largeness grows,
And every thorn is hidden by the rose.