Classic Poem

Upon my lips the breath of song,
Within my heart a rhyme,
Howe'er time trips or lags along,
I keep abreast with time!

With flush of crimson on its wings,
The morning mounts the sky;
A swallow soars, a blue-bird sings,
A buoyant wind goes by.

I take the open path; I shake
All shadows from my mind;
In rippling mead, in waving brake,
A virile joy I find.

The noon is like a brimming bowl;
While on my way I win,
I throw wide ope my thirsting soul
And drink the warm light in.

When comes the eve, in purple dressed,
Across the hills afar,
I press unto my yearning breast
The rapture of a star.

And with the night, the soothing night,
I drift down drowsy streams,
And reach at last, to my delight,
The golden bourn of dreams.

Oh, on my lips the breath of song,
And in my heart a rhyme,
Howe'er time trips or lags along,
I keep abreast with time!