Classic Poem

A CROSS the golden clouds gray clouds are flying;
—Shepherd that changest each as thou dost drive,
Why, when the day whose birth thou lov'st is dying,
—Spend'st thou thy wealth to keep the clouds alive?
Why must thou, Wind, the silent trees awaken?
—Quiet and still they stood the live-long day.
What secrets from the tossing leaves are shaken,
—What forced caresses make it worth the fray?
But for thy toil this gentle hour were given
—To musing recollections and to prayer.
Ah, who can pray when there is war in Heaven,
—And these wild angels whistle through the air?