Classic Poem

I follow the trail of a singing line
Over hills where a rainbow swings,
And I never quail in my lyric quest,
Nor stay my wanderings,

Till I catch in my net of eager words
The fluttering, glimmering wings
Of a poem whose flight has brushed the stars,
A poem, that magically sings.

I follow the trail of a singing line,
Disdaining the sport of kings;
For I know no peace till I closely clasp
The loveliest of things!