Classic Poem

How oft, surrounded by the motley crowd,
Mid whirling dance, and din of music loud,
I sink my senses in a dream, —
When phrased convention, polished fiction, fly
And all the men and women pass me by, —
Like masks their faces seem.

When my cold hands are met with colder still,
And callous city beauties touch me chill,
Bold but effete, with hollow cheer,
Then, to appearance wrapped in light and glare,
I cherish in my heart a fancy fair, —
Echoes a bygone year.

Forsaking all around, in heart and mind
I fly — a free, free bird — to things behind,
And see myself a child once more,
In places old and dear. The house o'erhead, —
The garden path I see, — the ruined shed, —
The pond well-weeded o'er:

And see across the pond the village lie,
From clustered roof the smoke is rising high,
The mists from meadows far away!
I enter a dark alley: evening red
Blinks through the shrubs, and underneath my tread
The dead leaves rustling stray.

Then a strange longing holds me, — yearning sore
For love, — my fancy's love and nothing more: —
She was a dream and yet my love!
Her sky-blue eyes could flash with silver flame,
Her rosy smile with kindling sweetness came,
Like sunrise through the grove.

Thus, potent master of my fairyland,
Alone I pass my hours, and understand
The spell of those sweet days to save,
Unharmed, unstained by passion or by doubt,
Like some fair flowery islet, lying out
Where leaps the wild sea wave.

But suddenly a jar renews my sense, —
The happy, happy dream is frighted hence,
That gentle, uninvited guest.
And wild I long my steel-cold lines to fling
Upon the startled crowd, to smite and sting,
With anger from my breast.