Classic Poem

In summer's mellow midnight
A cloudless moon shone through
Our open parlour window
And rosetrees wet with dew.

I sat in silent musing--
The soft wind waved my hair;
It told me heaven was glorious
And sleeping earth was fair.

I needed not its breathing
To bring such thoughts to me
But still it whispered lowly
"How dark the woods will be!

The thick leaves in my murmur
Are rustling like a dream,
And all their myriad voices
Instinct with spirit seem."

I said: "Go gentle singer,
Thy wooing voice is kind,
But do not think its music
Has power to reach my mind.

Play with the scented flower,
The young tree's supple bough--
And leave my human feelings
In their own course to flow."

The wanderer would not leave me;
Its kiss grew warmer still--
"Oh come," it sighed so sweetly,
"I'll win thee 'gainst thy will.

Have we not been from childhood friends?
Have I not loved thee long?
As long as thou hast loved the night
Whose silence wakes my song.

And when thy heart is laid to rest
Beneath the church-yard stone
I shall have time enough to mourn
And thou to be alone."