Classic Poem

There have been earnest fancies in my soul,
A wilder summons, — deeper cares than these,
That now possess my spirit and control,
Subduing me to forests and green trees.
Thoughts have assail'd me in my solitude,
Of human struggle! — and within mine ear,
Still and anon, a whispering voice I hear,
That mocks me with my feebleness of mood;
The puny toil of song — the idle dance
Of metaphor, and shadows of romance!
Points to superior struggle — paints the cares
Of Empire, — the great nation in the toils
Of impotence, that still in blindness dares,
And what it cannot elevate, despoils.