Classic Poem

Was never thing,
With leg or wing,
That could my ditty croon;
By mine emerald head,
By mine eye-ball red,
There 's devil in the egg of the loon.

To myself I mutter;
The pale leaves flutter,
The lake lifts not a wave;
I laugh! — a blast
Like the trump at last,
When the men-things jump from the grave.

Ha, ha! Ho, ho!
The black winds know;
The sun is blown to a blot.
The storm winds meet,
They blacken and beat;
The shore and the sky are not.

Ha, ha! Ho, ho!
The winds play so
With the Lord of the Lake alone.
The raving rout,
They shriek and shout;
The demon's laugh is mine own.

The wild winds rake,
They pile the lake;
Ha, ha! His brain is chaff,
The mad-cap loon,
They hatch i' the moon —
Ha, ha! I laugh and I laugh.