Classic Poem

As with heaped bees at hiving time
The boughs are clotted, as (ere prime)
Heaven swarms with stars, or the city street
Pullulates with faring feet;
So swarmed my senses once; that now
Repose behind my tranquil brow,
Unsealed, asleep, quiescent, clear;
Now only the vast shapes I hear
Hear--and my hearing slowly fills--
Rivers and winds among the twisting hills,
And hearken--and my face is lit--
Life facing; death pursuing it.