Classic Poem

Friend, you recall how we lingered above the bluffs of Wisconsin,
 Talking of Roman and Greek there by the Indian stream,
Under a sun of September, apart from the camp in the dingle,
 Once on a wonderful noon, nearly a decade ago?—
Minded of that, I am minded to give you a lyrical secret:
 How in the breast of a lad love of the Muses began.

Fresh from a starry sleep, on a school-boy morning of April
 (Over the meadows a mist, oriole out in the elm),
Fresh from my dreams of the Marvelous Book I had opened at bed-time
 (Pictures of altar and urn, Sibyl, Silenus, and lyre),
There in the homestead at Hilton I sat by the window with Vergil:
 Under the morning star, words like woods to explore.
Tityre, tu patula . . . . O eery quest in the silence!
 Magic of dawn on the earth, magic of dawn in the boy!
Thrilling from letter to letter and every word an enchantment.
  Silvestrem tenui … even ere meaning was known!
Eager, how eager my fingers divided the glossary's pages,
 Finding me key after key, golden though printed in black!
Proudly, how proudly my spirit deployed its strength over grammar
 Linking the noun to its kin, binding the verb to its man.
Then, as the words became phrases and phrases grew into verses
 (Change as subtle and vast, even as cell into flow'r),
O can I tell you the soul of the beautiful poignant Adventure
 (Sun just over the hill, oriole out in the elm),
There in the quiet of morning, with sleepers three in the homestead
 (Father who'd bought me the Book, mother and sister who knew),
Where, with the mist on the meadow, I sat by the window with Vergil:
 Sat with the soul of the dead—living again in my own!—
Back by the Mantuan uplands, Mincius stream, and Cremona
 (Far, how far from the mill, down by the Quarry and Cave);
Seeing, as never before, though often I'd wandered the hillsides
 (After the dogwood in spring, after persimmons in fall),
Feeling, as never before, though often I'd wandered the valleys
 (Summer and winter away—off to the orchards and oaks),
Seeing, and feeling, and hearing the Tree as a Being of nature
 (Tityrus under the beech, oriole out in the elm) …
Tityre, tu patulœ recubans sub tegmine fagi:
  Tegmine fagi … the Tree! Tegmine fagi … the Bird!
Out of that tree, as I fancy, have budded all blossoms and creatures,
 Flowed all rivers I know, whispered all winds I have heard.
Tityre, lentus in umbra … Man's mystical union with Nature,
 Man in his sorrow and joy, came to me there “in the shade.”
Dulcia linquimus arva … the love of the acres we've planted,
 Love that is pain when we go, wanderers ever on earth.
Nos patriam fugimus … and home and country were dearer
 (Though we had caroled at school “Country, my country of thee”) …
Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas. . . .
 (Bessie with ribbon and braid, oriole out in the elm). . . .
Formosam resonare … and sylvan Muse and the reedpipe! …
 Magic of dawn on the earth, magic of dawn in the boy!

Friend, sometime on a walk in the willows west of Mendota
 (Sunset Point if you will,—Wingra or Oregon Road),
Let us unravel, in sportive discourse and deft analytic,
 Purport and cause of the spell, here recorded for you:
For, of a truth, you have guarded the Gift, have guarded and given,
 Loving the Greek in man's soul—quickened to-day in how few.