Classic Poem

Where white Orion rules the hosts of night,
And grim Arcturus wheels his ancient round,
If there be any soul by earth-weight bound,
Let him here come, and if he hath a blight
Of poisoned spirit, let him note the flight
Of those great seers of centuries, without sound,
Patient, orderly, in their mystic swound,
Wheeling forever eternal hills of light.

Let him here pause; and if he hath a care,
A poisoned arrow rankling in his heart
Of human sorrow, or ill to great to bear,
From off his spirit like mists it will depart,
And in these dreams 'twixt golden dusk and day
Rebuild his soul for its appointed way.