Classic Poem

When resting in my green and bough-wrought cell,
Where gloomy shades are on the grassy ground;
And evening zephyrs waft the welcome smell
Of waving blossoms from the flow'rs around;
I listen to the spirit-soothing sound
Of winds that, murm'ring, in the tree-tops swell,
And feel my fancy drawn, as by a spell,
To scenes where only joy and peace are found.

Then how I lose myself in nameless dreams
Of days long passed away, or yet to come;
And things beyond the ken of worldly sight;

Till ev'ry moving shade before me seems
Some wand'ring spirit, bodiless, and dumb,
That glides along the shady earth at night.