Classic Poem

He heard a maiden singing in a wood,
He saw the wild vines kiss her as she stood,
With face upturned to note their wavy grace.

There was no note of sadness in her song,
And yet his thoughts were saddened, as along
The woodland path she went, 'mid tender leaves.

“To-day's a dream, to-morrow's real,” he said;
“For life's a dream, the wakened ones are dead;
She sings a lullaby for all her race.”

And death is real, for life is but to-day;
To-morrow's death, to-day will pass away,
And hold, for green and sunlit, faded leaves.