Classic Poem

The buffeted cliff by the main
Drew the violin pine to its breast,
And soft was the wind-wakened strain
Of the boughs by the breezes caressed,
Till a soul that had listened in pain
Was lulled into infinite rest.

In a many-towered palace of state
Stood a minstrel, all silvered with years.
Then his ruler, as cruel as great,
Bade him sing for his prince and the peers;
And the heart that was hardened with hate
Was melted to love and to tears!

A life that was simple and true
Was chosen to meet a great need:
Through each rift of a duty to do
Sprang a glory of sunburst—a deed—
Till he walked on a world that was new,
And the sound of his name was a creed.