Classic Poem

The human heart is a foolish thing—
Plenty of rhyme but little of reason;
For here I am in the sweep of spring
With never a song to fit the season;
With never a tune to ease the pain
Of the soft west wind and the warm grey rain,
Since yesterday when you rode away
Over the hills and far away.

I laugh at my heart and gaily go
About my daily wandering;
Sniff at the earthy winds that blow,
Watch for the fleck of bluebird wing;
But never a song returns to me
From the thin wet moon in the naked tree,
From the smell of loam or the flash of foam
Or the rush of the wild geese driving home.