Classic Poem

The swallows have departed.
The harvest moon has come.
O rare, O lyric-hearted,
Why are you dumb?

Your words, that once in summer
Glowed like a magic wine,
Are frozen. Aye! and dumber
Than yours are mine.

The mists upon the river
Drift like ghosts in a dream.
I think such greyness never
Has hung on the stream.

I think such greyness never
Has brooded over me.
Greyly flows the river
Down to the sea.