Classic Poem

Now leaps the lyric madness
From field and sheltered grove;
They sing about our gladness,
They celebrate our love.

Birds in the distant mountains
Among the pine and fir,
And laughing, leaping fountains,
Are eloquent of her.

Breezes that thread the passes
Of forests far above,
And leaves among the grasses,
Whisper about our love.

Rivers and brooks are theming
Our numbers amorous,
And lakes that lie a-dreaming
Murmur and muse of us.

Bells in the parish steeple
Chant us with ringing tongues,
And all the merry people
Repeat our happy songs.

But oh my soul is harried
With this pervading doubt—
When we are dead and buried
What will they sing about?