Classic Poem

The air was chill,
The leaves were hushed,
The moon in grandeur
Climbed the spangled
Walls of heaven,
When the angel came
That whispers death;
Unseen, unheard,
To lisp that word, and
Leave my window
Sad when night should
Blossom into day.
The moon had waned,
And each bright star,
Like visions of a
Dream. Up rose the
Sun on wings of
Gold, and soared thro' fields
Of light serene;
All earth seemed gay,
And banished from it
Sorrow; birds sang
Songs of summer
In the clear sweet sky.
But I was sad,
And song of bird
Nor sky of splendor
Could for one brief
Moment bring a
Solace to my heart.
I mourned, and all
Was dark and drear
Within my chamber,
Lorn and bare, where
Sweetness was and
Beauty for a day.
My window-friend,
I'll dig thy grave,
Inter thee grandly.
No sod shall lie,
Nor blossom there
Thy kindred flowers.
Within my soul's
Deep core is built
Thy tomb enduring.
Ah, morn shall kiss
Thee nevermore
In purple of dawn;
And stars shall rise
And twinkle in
Vain and pass away.
Should all thy race
Thus disappear,
In death forsake the
Soil in which you
Grew, the world would
Then be sad as I.

The air was chill,
The leaves were hushed,
The moon in grandeur
Climbed the spangled
Walls of heaven,
When the angel came
That whispers death;
Unseen, unheard,
To lisp that word, and
Leave my window
Sad when night should
Blossom into day.
The moon had waned,
And each bright star,
Like visions of a
Dream. Up rose the
Sun on wings of
Gold, and soared thro' fields
Of light serene;
All earth seemed gay,
And banished from it
Sorrow; birds sang
Songs of summer
In the clear sweet sky.
But I was sad,
And song of bird
Nor sky of splendor
Could for one brief
Moment bring a
Solace to my heart.
I mourned, and all
Was dark and drear
Within my chamber,
Lorn and bare, where
Sweetness was and
Beauty for a day.
My window-friend,
I'll dig thy grave,
Inter thee grandly.
No sod shall lie,
Nor blossom there
Thy kindred flowers.
Within my soul's
Deep core is built
Thy tomb enduring.
Ah, morn shall kiss
Thee nevermore
In purple of dawn;
And stars shall rise
And twinkle in
Vain and pass away.
Should all thy race
Thus disappear,
In death forsake the
Soil in which you
Grew, the world would
Then be sad as I.