Classic Poem

I claim no place among the great:
Shakspere and Goethe rise
Like mountains keeping their high state, —
At home in far-off skies.
Meantime, the valleys at their feet
The brooklets murmur through,
With restful voices low and sweet:
So would I speak to you.

The lark soars in the morning sky,
While wondering listeners wait
To hear his lessening music die
Throbbing at heaven's gate.
Meanwhile, the robin at your door
Pours out his gladness too:
He gives his best; who giveth more?
And thus I give to you.