Classic Poem

The song of Nature is forever,
Her joyous voices falter never;
On hill and valley, near and far,
Attendant her musicians are.

From waterbrook or forest tree
For aye comes gentle melody;
The very air is music blent,
A universal instrument.

When hushed are bird and brook and wind,
Then silence will some measure find,
Still sweeter; as a memory
Is sweeter than the things that be.