Classic Poem

The lichen rustles against my cheek,
But the heart of the rock is still;
With chattering voice the cedars speak,
Crouched gray on the barren hill.

A land-wind snarls on the cliff's sheer edge,
Below, the smitten sea
Comes fawning over a sunken ledge,
And cowers whimperingly.

In the sultry wood lies a restless hush,
Not a twitter falls from the sky;
Hidden are swallow, sparrow, and thrush,
And the sea-birds only cry.