Classic Poem

In the grey tumult of these after-years
— Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part;
And less-than-echoes of remembered tears
— Hush all the loud confusion of the heart;
And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying,
— Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood, —
Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying,
— Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude.

So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams,
— Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men,
Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible,
— And light on waving grass, he knows not when,
And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.

In the grey tumult of these after-years
— Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part;
And less-than-echoes of remembered tears
— Hush all the loud confusion of the heart;
And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying,
— Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood, —
Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying,
— Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude.

So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams,
— Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men,
Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible,
— And light on waving grass, he knows not when,
And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.

In the grey tumult of these after-years
— Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part;
And less-than-echoes of remembered tears
— Hush all the loud confusion of the heart;
And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying,
— Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood, —
Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying,
— Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude.

So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams,
— Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men,
Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible,
— And light on waving grass, he knows not when,
And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.