Classic Poem

Overburdened, out you clear;
be dried and toasted in the air.
along the unfrequented road;
and in the evening walk with God.

The waters of the winding dale,
whatever may, will never fail;
from hidden sources, springs afar,
these million ages purr and roar.

No lips of men have shaped the word
to name what all have often heard;
so willingly believe the noise
is like the uncreated voice.

The fiftieth time the lisping rush
has died upon a silver hush;
and, faithful to the downward hue,
another element is blue.

White pathway in the darkening hills,
soft salve for nearly all your ills;
on bruise and scar a healing drip,
the wanderers' companionship.

A planet, rose on tender green,
tugs at its radius unseen,
and draws its complicated arc;
until it blaze against the dark.

On earth no sight or sound at all;
unless an owl's alternate call;
or Tushielaw, if there you sup,
a furlong off is lighted up.