Classic Poem

Scarred hemlock roots,
Oaks in mail, and willow-shoots
Spring's first-knighted;
Clinging aspens grouped between,
Slender, misty-green,
Faintly affrighted:

Far hills behind,
Sombre growth, with sunlight lined,
On their edges;
Banks hemmed in with maiden-hair,
And the straight and fair
Phalanx of sedges:

Wee wings and eyes,
Wild blue gemmy dragon-flies,
Fearless rangers;
Drowsy turtles in a tribe
Diving, with a gibe
Muttered at strangers;

Wren, bobolink,
Robin, at the grassy brink;
Great frogs jesting;
And the beetle, for no grief
Half-across his leaf
Sighing and resting;

In the keel's way,
Unwithdrawing bream at play,
Till from branches
Chestnut-blossoms, loosed aloft,
Graze them with their soft
Full avalanches!

This is very odd!
Boldly sings the river-god:
" Pilgrim rowing!
From the Hyperborean air
Wherefore, and O where
Should man be going?"

Slave to a dream,
Me no urgings and no theme
Can embolden;
Now no more the oars swing back,
Drip, dip, till black
Waters froth golden.

Musketaquid!
I have loved thee, all unbid,
Earliest, longest;
Thou hast taught me thine own thrift:
Here I sit, and drift
Where the wind's strongest.

If, furthermore,
There be any pact ashore,
I forget it!
If, upon a busy day
Beauty make delay,
Once over, let it!

Only, — despite
Thee, who wouldst unnerve me quite
Like a craven, —
Best the current be not so,
Heart and I must row
Into our haven!