Classic Poem

Through the dim spheres of slumber I was borne
Upon the winged chariot of a vision,
To a fair valley, rich as summer morn,
With sounds and scents elysian.

Above it dreamed the everlasting blue;
Its bosom glowed with verdure, green and vernal;
And in the tranced life of tint and hue
The summer lurked eternal.

No rude sounds came its slumb'rous peace to mar,
No hint of labour's loud and stern commotion;
Only, as in a dream, was heard afar
The low lash of the ocean:

And air was heavy with the hum of bees;
The crisp stream clattered o'er its polished pebbles;
And linnets, lost among thick-foliaged trees,
Trilled forth their lusty trebles.

Far in the west the ruddy sunset glowed,
But never left the blood-red verge of heaven;
And faint but mellow was the blush that flowed
Through the dim bowers of even.

Oh, what a place, I thought to build a home,
In this still nook close by the narrow river,
Beneath the eternal sunset, where can come
No sound of strife for ever!

Here, weary strugglers, sick of earth's alarms,
Will wend, new stores of rest and strength to borrow,
And in the haven of its sheltering arms
Sad hearts forget their sorrow!

Then did I seek the dwellers in the place,
And found them gliding in bedazzling brightness, —
Fair shining forms of most celestial grace,
And most ethereal lightness.

But when I longed to win their greeting warm,
They seemed to fade behind a hazy curtain,
And, through the voiceless light, each volant form
Loomed shadowy and uncertain!

In vain I called with loud and piteous moan;
Stately and silent through the air they floated;
And in the valley I was left alone,
Unwelcomed and unnoted.

Then, bowed down by this loneliness, I fell,
And cried, " Oh give me back earth's lowlier meadows!
Better the noisy world, than here to dwell
Among a host of shadows!

" This solitude oppresses me too much —
The weary, weary hours will lag fear-laden —
No voice of friend, no thrilling at the touch
Of some white-handed maiden.

" No old-world sounds will come mine ears to bless,
Save ocean's lash, the stream's lay, and the twitter
Of birds among the trees, until excess
Of sweet is changed to bitter.

" Give me again the great world's healthful strife,
Its surging myriads and its mighty rattle;
And let me fight the earnest fight of life,
Or fall in thick of battle!

For who would in this valley fade and droop —
Bright as it is with hues of heavenly beauty —
Who could wield falchion in the unflinching troop
Of ever-conquering duty!

" O lordliest life, — though deafened with the din,
Though ofttimes faltering feebly in the distance
To hold with tyranny and wrong and sin
A high and brave resistance!"

With that the cold dawn, glimmering clear and sweet,
Came slowly through its pearly portals breaking:
And surging life and labour thronged to greet
On all sides my awaking.

And I rejoiced that in all humble works
There dwells divinity beyond our dreaming;
And that an everlasting beauty lurks
In deeds of lowliest seeming!