Classic Poem

No sooner cast upon the sounding beach
From the dim sea where unborn spirits are,
But with malignest influence touched, the fair
And glorious soul was drawn beyond our reach.
We search for thy great spirit, Brother, where
In the dull distant caverns of thy being
The stricken thing may haply now be fleeing
Before some awful sights, or in some snare
Caught trembling, all unconscious we are nigh.
But sight and sound shall couch thy spirit's eye
In thy wild mirth and outbursts of rude glee
We shall behold thee daily set aside
The withes the Dark One hath around thee tied,
Bidding some portion of thyself go free.