Classic Poem

I dreamed a dream in a winter night,
When sullen winds blew about the door,
And over the snow fields, cold and white,
And through the forest with muffled roar.

Through all the wintry sounds, I heard
The rustle of a tiny wing;
And wildly carrolled a dear brown bird—
The bird that sings at the gates of spring.

My pulses leaped with a sudden thrill!
Was the winter gone? I thought in my sleep—
Had spring come in with that silvery trill?
Would storms no longer their wassails keep?

I woke—and there came, in frosty bars,
The light of a pale and gloomy moon,
And the far, faint twinkle of the misty stars;
And the cold winds chanted their midnight tune.

Gone was the rustle of tiny wing;
Silent the song of the dear brown bird;
Closely barred stood the gates of spring,
And the chant of the wind was all I heard.

So the pilgrim dreams; and he hears afar
The harps of gold; and the radiant gleam
Comes flashing through the gates ajar
Of the sea of glass, and the crystal stream.

But he wakes; and closed are the pearly gates;
Gone is the music, the flash and gleam;
But he goes his way, and in patience waits—
He goes his way, but keeps his dream!