Classic Poem

All was so dight in wondrous wise,
no tongue of man hath power to tell
the beauty of that forest-land,
where fortune led me on and on
Still forth I pressed in blissful mood;
no hill, though high, might hinder me
Deeper in wood, more fair arose
plains and plants and spice and fruits,
hedgerows and borders, and river-meads;
as fine gold-thread were their steep banks
A water I reach'd that cleft the strand,—
Lord, how wondrous was the sight!