Classic Poem

Immortal beauty built her stately home
In laurel grove by leaf-embowered stream,
Cloud-pillared it in Art of Greece and Rome,
And robed in draperies of Olympic dream.

Here is no remnant of a slow decay,
No chronicle degenerate where abide
Dreams insubstantial of a twilight gray,
Or hoary superstition glorified;

Myth is the pulsing of great music, felt
Through the deep thunder of the storm and strife,
In which the jarring notes that will not melt
Are broken in the sacrament of life.

A nobleness the heart can not forget,
Inwoven into deeds and hopes and fears,
And raised aloft in starry silhouette
Along the dim face of forgotten years.

Here youthful eyes have opened drowsy lids
To view the ranks of that immortal throng,
The mighty souls that reared the Pyramids,
And thrilled the marching centuries with song.

Unscathed they stand, immutable, sublime,
Great-souled, beyond the barriers of gloom;
In solemn light above the wrecks of time,
They rise triumphant challenging the tomb.