Classic Poem

It trembles round me like a sea
O'er which the south wind softly blows,
Deep green and dense and billowy,
And odorous with the wild primrose.

From its dim aisles the crickets cry,
In jocund measure, long and loud,
To swift-winged swallows soaring high
To gain the opal-hearted cloud.

Deep in its hollows, dusky sweet,
The bee his honeyed plunder hides;
Above it saffron psyches meet,
Borne down the air on perfumed tides.

A potent power, subtly strong,
Controls my senses as I lie;
The morn is eloquent with song,
And earth seems yearning toward the sky.

My heart is glad with life, and yet
These emerald spears that gently wave
(Alas! why can I not forget?)
Will one day nod above my grave!