Classic Poem

I.

I' M weary, I'm weary, — this cold world of ours;
I will go dwell afar, with fairies and flowers.
Farewell to the festal, the hall of the dance,
Where each step is a study, a falsehood each glance;
Where the vain are displaying, the vapid are yawning;
Where the beauty of night, the glory of dawning,
Are wasted, as Fashion, that tyrant, at will
Makes war on sweet Nature, and exiles her still.

II.

I'm weary, I'm weary, — I'm off with the wind:
Can I find a worse fate than the one left behind?
— Fair beings of moonlight, gay dwellers in air,
O show me your kingdom! O let me dwell there!
I see them, I see them! — how sweet it must be
To sleep in yon lily! — is there room in't for me?
I have flung my clay fetters; and now I but wear
A shadowy seeming, a likeness of air.

III.

Go harness my chariot, the leaf of an oak;
A butterfly stud, and a tendril my yoke.
Go swing me a hammock, the poles mignionette;
I'll rock with its scent in the gossamer net.
Go fetch me a courser: yon reed is but slight,
Yet far is the distance 'twill bear me to-night.
I must have a throne, — ay, yon mushroom may stay,
It has sprung in a night, 'twill be gather'd next day:
And fit is such throne for my brief fairy reign;
For, alas! I'm but dreaming, and dreams are but vain.