Classic Poem

A CROSS the hills of Arcady
—Into the Land of Song—
Ah, dear, if you will go with me
—The way will not be long!

It will not lead through solitudes
—Of wind-blown woods or sea;
Dear, no! the city's weariest moods
—May scarce veil Arcady.

'Tis in no unfamiliar land
—Lit by some distant star.
No! Arcady is where you stand,
—And Song is where you are!

So walk but hand in hand with me—
—No road can lead us wrong;
These are the hills of Arcady—
—Here is the Land of Song!