Classic Poem

Push back the curtains and fling wide the door;
Shut not away the light nor the sweet air,
Let the checked sunbeams play upon the floor,
And on my head low bowed, and on my hair.

Would I could sing, in words of melody,
The hazy sweetness of this wondrous time!
Low would I pitch my voice: The song should be
A soft, low chant, set to a dreamy rhyme.

No loud, high notes for tender days like these!
No trumpet tones, no swelling words of pride,
Beneath these skies, so like dim summer seas,
Where hazy ships of clouds at anchor ride.

At peace are earth and sky, while softly fall
The brown leaves at my feet. A holy palm
Rests in a benediction over all.
O silent peace! O days of silent calm!

And passion, like the winds, lies hushed and still;
A throng of gentle thoughts, sweet, calm and pure,
Knock at my door and lightly cross the sill.
Would that their fair feet might stay, their reign endure!

But storms will come. The haze upon the hills
Will yield to blinding gusts of sleet and snow;
And, for this peace that all my being fills,
The tides of battle shall surge to and fro.