Classic Poem

Garden of Hesperides, divine
And golden garden shining in mine eyes,
Dream or reality? — what paths shall twine
Unto thy shores, O Paradise of mine?
So to his dream the pilgrim makes repine
Falling in mire and blood amid his sighs.
To seek this garden — destiny is thine,
But never shalt behold it anywise.

Never to see it, for it lives alone
Within the bosoms that have sorrow known,
The treasure-house of all their fantasy —
In vain thine arid eye its gates would find;
The prose of life is all too near the mind, —
And far — too far away — is Poesy!