Classic Poem

If, in a dream,
When I was far away,
I sought that stream,
As in an early day;
If in my thought
I heard the evening dove,
As oft I sought
This elm-bewarded grove,
I had you by,
And ever seem'd to hear
Some young tongues near,
Or flowing winds to sigh.

Though we may roam,
These trees be-edge the glade;
Though shift our home,
Here sleeps their daily shade,
As once they swell'd
With yearly rings of growth,
Untrimm'd, unfell'd,
High-headed o'er us both;
And though we weep
In grief, or smile in glee,
Here lives each tree
A life of lovely sleep.

So may their leaves
In summer air be found,
While ever heaves
My bosom o'er the ground;
But there's a tree
Out yonder, fell'd in spring;
Come, let us see
Its year-growths, ring by ring;
And we may find
The sundry belts that grew
When I or you
Had grief or joy of mind.

I seek not now
The year whose sun was bright
O'er my small brow
When first I saw the light;
But there is one,
The fifteenth summer back,
When, as its sun
Roll'd o'er its heated track,
Up here we met
Full gay in youthful pride,
With more beside,
That I shall ne'er forget.

When that ring grew,
The twelfth one back behind,
I here left you
In feet, but not in mind;
And one, two, three,
Four, five, and five are ten,
That's when with me
You left this bow'ry glen;
I will not look
For years of heavy wings,
For sad year-rings —
But what a touching book!