Classic Poem

A restful beauty mellowed Corot's brush,
A beauty tender as the twilight hush.
His witching scenes were wrought in lyric vein
By sheltered woodland ways and peaceful plain;
By sylvan glens of singing tone and tint,
Where what o'clock 's as plain as any print;
By arching Skies with all their banners flown,
With all their gorgeous, melting colours shown;
Clouds idling free, adrift for Summer seas,
Touched of the dawn and ruffled of the breeze;
By pale, poetic poplars in whose shade
The nymphs of Folly frolic in the glade;
The fading embers of the fabled day
When happy Fairies danced the hours away.