Classic Poem

Ye lone, majestic Silences that keep
The hoary secrets of primeval time!
Titans, that with dark frontlets ponder deep
On unconjectured mysteries sublime,
Like minds of lofty mould that stand alone,
Wrapped in a wilderness of mighty thought—
The shadow of your solemn power is thrown
Over the world below and it has caught
An awèd quiet, sombre yet serene,
A grave repose, a cold, autumnal gleam;
While past your firm feet, shod in russet green,
With joyous murmur flows the broad, bright stream,
As light and song and laughter might illume
Some old cathedral's immemorial gloom.