Classic Poem

I AM not poor: I own the seas,
The earth and all its boundaries.
These happy skies that o'er my head
Serenely float, for me were spread;
For me this sun goes blazing through
Its path of light; for me the dew
Fills, morn and eve, its chalice up;
The tulip paints for me its cup;
Mine every flower that decks the glade;
For me the singing birds were made;
The winds that blow, blow soft for me,
For me they pipe their stormy glee;
The great woods hang their banners out
To hail my coming thereabout;
At my poor feet, all bare and brown,
They drop their nutty treasures down;
The squirrel — honest fellow he,
For all his tricks — goes halves with me:
He shares my nuts, and I his glee.

I feel a very millionaire,
Such wealth have I! The earth and air
Pay tribute to me everywhere.
To feed me, Nature hangs her store
Of summer fruit about my door.
See where her loaded trees incline
Their boughs! to pluck and eat is mine.
I ask not how her plums unfold
Their globes of purple and of gold;
Nor how her sun-bright cherries grow, —
Whether they toil and spin or no
Small thought have I; I but outreach
My hand, and lo, the golden peach,
Sweet with the sweetness of the south,
Drops honeyed ripeness on my mouth.
Nature, kind mother, — I her heir, —
She cares for me without my care:
For me her rosy apples blush,
Her perfumed pears grow large and lush;
From vines her dainty finger drapes
With green, she pulls me purple grapes;
She makes the ground I walk on sweet
With blackberries beneath my feet;
She plants my path with flowers, and nods
And smiles to me in goldenrods
And painted buttercups; she throws
Rich odors round the musky rose;
Or, coyer grown, hides faint perfumes
In violets and arbutus-blooms,
And laughs, through all her realms, to see
How sweet her breath is unto me!
She syllables in meadow brooks
And sunny glades and sylvan nooks
Love such as never was in books.
Sweet priestess, too, — she reads to me
Her liturgies from every tree,
And chants her solemn service where
Her bluebells call to praise and prayer,
Or breathes, through her eternal calms,
Her inarticulate, sweet psalms.
She makes me earnest, grave or gay,
As suits her mood; and yet, alway
She ministers to mine; she knows
I love all bright things, — so, with shows
Of glittering gold and crimson sheen,
And purple, draped with richest green,
She lights for me her solitudes
And paints my way adown her woods;
She calls her squirrels out, to greet
My coming with their frisky feet;
Her merry crickets, too, to stir
The silence with their tuneful whir;
She bids her birds with jocund song
Pipe music to me all day long;
For me their prodigal sweet notes
Leap, liquid, from their golden throats.
Thus fare I at her hands: and so,
With feast and song and royal show,
She waits on me where'er I go.

Even winter pays his tithe of joy
Into my lap. I love the boy!
He comes with boisterous, honest mirth,
And lights the fire upon my hearth;
And while the blazing embers shine,
I crack my nuts and drink my wine
Of sweet content, — rejoicing, still,
To let the urchin have his will.
What though he pile my path with snow?
I take my shovel down and go
To earn my meal of morning air;
The veriest clown with me may share,
Nor pay a farthing for his fare.
And then I take it back in coin
Of health and strength, — this toil of mine.
I get, in payment for my pains,
A quicker flow through all my veins;
My cheeks a richer carmine show
Than French cosmetics could bestow;
A subtle grace my lithe limbs gain
That rules of art might teach in vain.
Nor this alone the urchin pays
To offset his uncanny ways;
For look you! every frosty morn,
He comes with jewels to adorn
Each tree and shrub beside my door;
I gaze, — I am no longer poor.
I walk a king! My cottage shed
No longer shelters me: instead,
A palace roofs me, rich and grand,
Dizened with gems of every land.
A thousand glittering rubies shine,
Like great, rich drops of frozen wine,
Beneath this royal roof of mine.
The diamond and the opal flame
Anear me; jewels wanting name, —
So bright they be, so rich and rare, —
Flash splendor round me everywhere.
I shut my glory-blinded eyes
For sheer relief, — and straight arise
Thoughts of that glorious vision told
By John: the city made of gold
Stands open to my gaze; I see
That too was built for me, for me!
And while my spirit faints away
For very joy, sweet voices say,
" Thine is the fair, fruit-bearing tree,
Thine is the burning jasper sea,
Thine the white robe, the crown, the palm,
Thine heaven's serene, eternal calm! "

The vision fades; I take again
Life's duties up, like other men;
But oh, the perfect calm, the peace
That wraps me and shall still increase,
Until, this happy journey o'er,
My feet shall touch that shining shore,
Shall touch and leave it nevermore!
So live I on, contented still
To go or stay, as suits His will;
And singing in my heart this song
Of sweetness as I pass along: —

" Dear Lord, if such the earthly gauge
Of my immortal heritage,
If such the imperfect glimpses given,
The faint foreshadowings of heaven,
The taste of sweets in store for me,
What shall the full fruition be?
And what the treasures of Thy love
And grace laid up for me above?
I cannot tell; I but believe
No tongue can speak nor heart conceive
The sweetness, the surpassing bliss
Of that world, far transcending this .
I cannot tell; I only know
I own all things, above, below:
All things, — and still, through gain and loss,
Through hero's crown and martyr's cross,
I see but one bright promise shine,
I read but one illumined line,
I know but this, — all things are mine! "