Classic Poem

Nature , give me thy truth, for I am worn
With outward knowledge of this surface world.
Men know thy trees, thy hills, thy clouds upcurled,
Thy dreams at even and thy dews at morn,
Thy great sky-temples, domed or thunder-torn;
Thy lakes, thy rivers hushed or seaward hurled,
Thy limpid brooks, thy grasses dew impearled,
And all thy beauty love or wonder born.

But that rare glory, that invisible,
Undreamed-of vision of thine under deeps,
That face behind earth's face that never sleeps,
That mystic word our wisdom fails to spell,
Which man calls genius, that sincerity,
That magic seeing heart, give, give to me.