Classic Poem

There is a language I have heard in dreams
Whispered by formless clouds, by ouph and gnome,
Sound that like water breaking into foam
With sad unearthly song and music teems;

An idiom unctuous like oil in streams,
Full of grand mellow words like “star,” like “Rome!”
Such as cannot in any cobwebbed tome
Of antique lore be found; whose carol quemes,

Subtle of strain like rich sonorous Zend
Full of strange syllables that have no end.
A tongue wherein low liquid echoes swell
Of worlds unknown; which mortals cannot speak
Something like velvet crushed upon a bell.
Something like amorous sighs, or murmured Greek!

There is a language I have heard in dreams
Whispered by formless clouds, by ouph and gnome,
Sound that like water breaking into foam
With sad unearthly song and music teems;

An idiom unctuous like oil in streams,
Full of grand mellow words like “star,” like “Rome”!
Such as cannot in any cobwebbed tome
Of antique lore be found; whose carol quemes.

Subtle of strain like rich sonorous Zend
Full of strange syllables that have no end. . . .
A tongue wherein low liquid echoes swell
Of worlds unknown; which mortals cannot speak;
Something like velvet crushed upon a bell. . . .
Something like amorous sighs, or murmured Greek!