Classic Poem

Over the thirsty plains a pregnant Cloud
Rolled on its forward way;
Scorning the cliffs whose summit proud
Beneath it lay;
While to the overflowing sea
It poured its waters forth rejoicingly.
“Am I not liberal?” to the Mountain cried
The Cloud, while the swift torrents swelled the tide.
“Liberal! The panting field and sun-dried plain
Asked for one drop, one single drop, in vain,”
Exclaimed the Mountain; “liberal, indeed,
To those who asked no favour,—felt no need!”