Classic Poem

Wave unto shore in an embrace
Doth ever rue;
The dawn to cheer the wild-flower's face
Distils the dew.
The wind of evening makes its moan
To cypress-tree;
To terebinth the turtle lone
Plains mournfully.

When all save grief hath found repose,
The moon doth speak,
And to the dormant waves disclose
Her pallid cheek.
Sophia, thy white dome doth seem
To greet blue heaven;
And pensively the heaven's calm dream
To God is given.

Or dove or rose, or wave or tomb,
Or rock or tree;
All here below hath somewhere room
Itself to free;
But I alone am all alone,
And there is naught
Save, Hellespont, thy sombre tone,
Gives back my thought!