Classic Poem

I.

True words and tender strain,
Immortal Greek! — again
Tired Summer faints; for oh, with dewy rain
And rosy dawnings clear
Though all thy months were here,
Rejoicing Spring, we missed thee from the year!

II.

Hence, Autumn is not glad;
Grey heads are bowed and sad,
Her scanty crown reminds them what she had
Ere War and Spectral Fear
And Love, to deck the bier
Of youthful heroes, spoiled the vernal year.

III.

And Winter is more stern;
Prone on his chilly urn,
Earthwards he mutters, She will not return:
Our youth sleep far and near,
Like them, she does not hear
The loud March wind, the birth-cry of the year.

IV.

The skirting poplars fling
Green banners of the Spring
High on the air; the Hours their offering bring,
Pale flowers to Sorrow dear,
And many a shining tear,
But thou, where art thou, Glory of the year?

V.

The briar, at noon, is sweet,
And cool to cloven feet
The way-side grass feels not the climbing heat:
But lo! when, stark and sear,
Hands, like a shattered spear,
Some leafless signal of the stricken year.

VI.

The stream is splendor flows,
Nor shrinks when Taurus glows;
Her bosom is still cold with mountain snows:
O Youth, serene, severe!
O Shining, swift career!
Gone, is the grace, the glory of the year.

VII.

Upon dead Freedom's breast
Bright, curly heads are pressed,
Ah! many a fiery heart is here at rest:
True words old Greek! how drear
Without her tones of cheer,
Without her smile how sullen is the year!

VIII.

Forever art thou fled
Spirit that smiling, bled
By Athens' Wall? How late we saw the tread,
With Hope thy fair compeer,
In haggard Battle's rear,
Flower-footed Spring, nor missed thee from the year.

IX.

O God, bring back the spring;
In vain the Thrushes sing,
In vain wild harps in leafy forests ring:
Their music in our ear
Is harsh till she appear,
Till Thou, at last, reclaim the perfect year.