Classic Poem

My soul is vexed, to think how many years
I lived away from nature, seeing not
Sunset or moonrise—how I quite forgot
The beauty that in changing clouds appears
And the procession of the gleaming spheres—
How I endured the bedlamism, the hot
And pestilential city, with no spot
For cool and sweet repose—with weary ears
Turned on my pillow, well-nigh mad for sleep,
And woke to see dawn fuming as from hell.
What elevating vigils now I keep!
Hesper at eve, Phosphor at morn I tell
My orisons unto, and hear the deep
Sweet tones of many a distant evening bell.