Classic Poem

If , in the night and madness of thy mind,
The tearing storm appear to thee a thing
Lit sharply with thy hate and suffering, —
A cause, a God, above the screaming wind;
Or, when the sunlight infinitely kind
Moves the meadow and mountain land to sing,
Thou seem to see the glister of a wing —
Know it is nothing, and thy eyeballs blind.
Remember all this little humour of despair
Wrongs the rich summer-time when summer is,
And even so thy subtle ecstasies
The winter hurricane and awful air.
Fall down upon thy knees and lift thy eyes,
That all things are forever as they were.