Classic Poem

I.

O WAKEN , winds, waken! the waters are still,
And silence and sunlight recline on the hill;
The angler is watching beside the green springs
For the low welcome sound of your wandering wings!

II.

His rod is unwielded, his tackle unfreed,
And the withe-woven pannier lies flung on the mead;
He looks to the lake, through its fane of green trees,
And sighs for the curl of the cool summer breeze.

III.

Calm-bound is the form of the water-bird fair,
And the spear of the rush stands erect in the air,
And the dragon-fly roams o'er the lily-bed gay,
Where basks the bold pike in a sun-smitten bay.

IV.

O waken, winds, waken! wherever asleep,
On cloud or dark mountain, or down in the deep;
The angler is watching, beside the green springs,
For the low welcome sound of your wandering wings.