Classic Poem

August! 'tis passing pleasant to behold
Thy rising cornstack, and exulting wain;
Or, while the workers gather in the grain,
Gaze on thy seas of life-sustaining gold;
Or, wake the grey of earliest morn, and climb
Up to thy mountain'd wildernesses cold,
When nought is moving on the silent wold,
Except the shadow of heav'n's only cloud.
Who would not seek thy solitudes sublime,
To tread their shoreless purple all alone,
And of their proud solemnity be proud?
Surely, the heart were made of steel or stone,
That did not feel their grandeur, and confess
“The might, the majesty of loneliness.”