Classic Poem

A warmth of gold, all summer stored,
The golden-rod gives up;
And filled from springtime's scantier hoard
Shines the bright buttercup;
And from the singing of the breeze
And low, sweet sound of rain,
The little brook learns melodies
And sings them back again.

Forgotten all the cloudy sky
Of dark days overcast—
For flower hearts let gloom go by,
But hold the sunshine fast.
And all year long, the little burn,
Though wintry boughs be wet,
Picks out the happy days to learn—
The sad days, to forget.

Then sing, my heart, the gladdest strain
From glad remembered years,
But made more full by outlived pain
And peace that follows tears.
Sing on, my heart, as woodbirds sing
Remembering sunshine best—
And, singing so, grow strong; and bring
To hearts that listen, rest.