Classic Poem

They tell us that the poet's day is past,
That Song no more shall gush from human heart;
They tell us all the old dreams must depart,
The old ideals by the way be cast.
What babbling folly! Frailest dreams outlast
The noisiest jargon of the mightiest mart;
Great empires crumble, yet the realm of Art,
Unconquered, glorious, stands forever fast.

When Spring comes not in triumph as of yore,
When Earth's last rose her last sweet leaf hath shed;
When oceans cease to swell, and peaks to soar,
When man and maid no longer woo and wed;
When starry skies proclaim their God no more,—
Not till that day shall Poesie be dead.