Classic Poem

Aurora rises o'er the hills, by graceful hours attended,
And in her train a merry troop of bright-eyed loves are blended.
Away they fly, o'er wood and wild, o'er lake and winding river;
And as they fly, the kindling sky is growing brighter ever.

The world now wakes, and silence flies to cave of lonely mountain:
The deer steal from their forest glades; the birds sing o'er the fountain:
The cottage smoke, o'er vale and plain, in many a curl, is flowing;
And guided by the tinkling bell, the herd afield is going.

The level sunbeams touch the lake, — its sheeted wave is flashing;
And brighter still, from eastward hill, the waterfall is dashing:
The plashing wheel revolves below, — a shower of light is round it;
Those orient hues, the drops diffuse, with mazy circles bound it.

O, gay the plastic dreams of old, the world their touch created!
The poet's eye, with fervent gaze, still o'er it broods unsated.
Fair forms still haunt the forest-wild, still dwell by shady river:
Their loveliness shall never fade; their bloom is fresh for ever.