Classic Poem

Her palace doors are open wide to-night,
Her palace doors beside the northern pole,
Where through the centuries, right gayly dight
With ice-gems glistening in the frosty light,
She sits and listens to the onward roll.

The gathering roll of millions on the march,
The ever-broadening tide of human feet.
She sees the distant east and west o'erarch, —
" And soon, " she cries, " the shaggy northern larch
And desert wastes their fearless steps shall greet.

" Ah, surely I have waited long, dear Lord;
And long, too long, these boundless realms of mine
Have lain all destitute of verdant sward,
And choral voices through the greenwood poured,
And the warm shapes of loveliness divine.

" Through the long night (and night upon my heart
Hangs heavily, though darkness there is none),
In the cold, steel-like splendor do I start
And gasp for joy to see the ships depart
From the soft regions of the sultry sun.

" They see the slant rays lie along the sky;
They see the flaming billows rise and fall;
And some, the daring ones, who press more nigh
Hear a quick crackling, rising sharp and high,
And a dull roar like whirlwinds in a hall.

" O feeble-sighted ones and gross of sense!
Can they not see the windows gleaming far?
Can they not trace the splendor streaming thence
To where I stand in hateful indolence
With outstretched hands beneath the polar star? "