Classic Poem

O what a silence is this wilderness!
Might we not think the sweet(?) and daring rises
Of the flown skylark, and his traverse flight┬░
At highest when he seems to brush the clouds,
ÔÇáHad been more fertile and had sown with notes

The unenduring fallows of the heaven?
Or take it thus — that the concording stars
Had let such music down, without impediment
Falling along the breakless pool of air,
*As struck with rings of sound the close-shut palms
Of the wood-sorrel and all things sensitive?
-ÔÇá[or Had been effectual to have sown with notes]*[As might have struck and shook the close-shut palms]A.

As the wood-sorrel and all things sensitive
That thrive in the loamy greenness of this place?B.
What spirit is that makes stillness obsolete
With ear-caressing speech? Where is the tongue
Which drives this stony air to utterance? —
Who is it? how come to this forgotten land?