Classic Poem

I know thee not, bright friend! but that thy looks
Do draw me to thee, with thy boyhood rushing,
As a sweet fever, through thy veins, and gushing
From thy clear eyes in merry falls, like brooks
Leaping, clear crystal things, from their stone fountains,
And waking echoes in the noonday mountains.
This is no place for thee; be warned in time.
Thou must go haunt some free and breezy knoll,
Ere this grey city come with spell sublime,
Freezing her heartless state into thy soul.
Thou hast been surely cradled out of doors,
And the great forms that nursed thee are the truest;
And, though these courts were Heaven's own azure floors,
Yet days are coldest when the skies are bluest.