Classic Poem

At last the morning breaks; the peaceful bay
Mirrors again the rocky Spezian shore;
Again across the unclouded heaven pour
The tranquil splendors of a new-born day.
Through olive grove, on vineclad hillside play
The idle breezes; hushed the angry roar;
The sky is black,—the surges foam,—no more;
For with the night the storm has passed away.

O poet heart, with doubt and dream outworn!
When the long sighing of the midnight ceased
At the fair dawning of that brighter life,—
When on your sad eyes broke the eternal morn,
Within the Heart of Hearts did you find peace
And learn the secret of this weary strife?