Classic Poem

Somewhere , the legends say, there lies a land
Older than silent Egypt, whose dim coast
No human foot has trod, no eye has scanned;
Where never mariner was tempest-tossed,
Nor pilgrim fared along the lonely strand;

And where in brimming cisterns hyaline,
Flashes the Fountain of Eternal Youth,
Whereof who drinks shall know not any sign
Of fading cheek or palsy-parchèd mouth,
Or age's long, slow languor and decline.

Some say beyond the sunset's latest ray,
Far down the ocean's azure brink it lies;
And ofttimes I have seen, at close of day,
Strange semblances reflected in the skies,
In cloudy pageant soon dissolved away—

Domes, temples, palaces, and misty gleams
Of shapes disclosed behind thin purple veils,
Vistas of hills and plains and winding streams,
Dusk forest solitudes and pastoral dales;
Sweet haunts of quietness and pleasant dreams.

Surely the old belief was not all vain!
There must be ultimate, divine repose,
And love that dieth not and end of pain;
But none have found beyond the twilight's close
The hidden highway to that dim domain.

Yet the relentless turmoil and unrest,
The inborn, feverous craving and the strife.
The wingèd spirit, prisoned and oppressed,
Urge us still onward toward the ideal life,—
Onward forever in untiring quest.