Classic Poem

Far from all smallness towards the eternal hills
Of highest Art I lift thee:—thou hast been
As one who, childlike, 'mid the meadows green
Plays, bathing white feet in earth's murmuring rills.
But now her mission holy Art fulfils,—
She calls thee forth to be an endless queen.
Forsake all lower thoughts; with happy mien
List to the song whose passion through thee thrills!

Thy days of earth are over: come with me,
And watch the stars, and hearken to the sea,
Whose every solemn wave doth whisper “Thee.”
The moon above the waters rises slow—
Sweeter than dreams around us is the flow
Of silver streamlets:—Love waits; let us go!