Classic Poem

When evening folds her tent of day
And camps behind the hills,
In reverie I soar away,
Mindless of earthly ills.

Far up the summerlands of sky
On phantom wing I soar
To where my eerie castles lie
Along the Dream Land shore.

The cloud-veils out of sunsets made
With fringes silver-white
Blush rosily, then softly fade
Into the jewelled night.

I fold the drapery of the stars
My blissful fields about,
And with oblivion's restful bars
Shut worry-demons out.

While there upon the open height
Beneath the stars I lie,
My tent the all-revealing night,
My cabin roof, the sky;

Out of the east at my desire,
Aurora's radiant car
With steeds of flame and wheels of fire
Bedims the morning star.

The southern landscapes glow and gleam
Like fairyland for me;
Through verdant glades a mystic stream,
Flows winding to the sea.

I clothe the north with fragrant woods
And court their dreamy shades,
Or find the measure of my moods
In mossy everglades.

In storm I sweep along the deep
My dream-dominions o'er,
From craggy steep my torrents leap
And down their cañons roar.

'Tis day or darkness as I will
Among my hills of peace,
And when I bid the storms be still
The winds and thunders cease.

I revel in the sunbeams bright
That gild my dream-land towers,
Or hide with veils of misty light
The beauty of my bowers.

The warblers sing, the thrushes shake
The air and fill the skies,
And flower fragrances awake
To June of Paradise.

No wars alarm, no creeds divide,
No tyrannies appal,
No subtle cruelties abide
In my Dream Land at all.

I sail through love-illumined seas
To every sunlit goal
That could my vagrant fancy please—
The port is my own soul!