Classic Poem

'Twas in the sorrowful November days
I wandered to a silent fir-thronged wood;
Against the tallest fir I leaning stood,
And in my hand wide open held thy lays.
Absorbed in thought, I conned each pensive phrase;
With awe " St. Alban's stone " my mind imbued,
Next " Regiswind in rosy light " I viewed.
Then " Helicena's Minster " caught my gaze.
What pleasing wonders wrought thy soothing strain!
The heights were touched with May's fair golden trail,
The voice of spring breathed through the trees o'erhead;
But soon the magic spring dissolved again;
It might not settle in that dreary vale,
But lightly touched earth's highest tops, and fled.