Classic Poem

I sit in the twilight, thinking;
The full round moon rides high,
And a single star its silvery lamp
Hangs out in the tinted sky.

The loud, wild winds are sleeping,
But a breeze on the highlands born,
Just stirs the stalks of the withered grass,
Just rustles the hoary corn.

The silent frost comes creeping
Over the prairie's breast,
And the deepening night, with dusky wing,
Broods over a land at rest.

Still I sit here, sadly thinking,
Oh! dear ones, kind and true!
From out the hush of the silent night
My heart would speak to you.

I call across the darkness,
In eager, passionate tone:
I reach out longingly to touch
The hands that have clasped my own.

But alas! two mighty rivers
Mock at my outstretched hand;
Two mighty rivers lie between,
And many a league of land.

Vainly I call; and the distance
Vainly I seek to span;
You heed not, hear not, my eager words,
And they neither bless nor ban.

Lo! a bit of snow-white paper!
Some magic shall give it wings;—
I trow such messages as this
Have shaken thrones of kings.

It shall cleave the night and the silence,
It shall flutter down to your feet;
Ye shall flutter down to your feet;
Ye shall know the love in my heart of hearts—
Thus sundered souls do greet.