Classic Poem

I

Oh, my heart, for the green, — the first green!
The shy sheen
Of the wistful sun-beams mid the gray
Tangled sway
Of the proud, yearning arms giving birth:
Oh, the mirth!
At the first, of the mad, moving masses
Of grasses,
With the joy on their lips, in the clean
Air so keen:
Oh, my heart, for the green, — the first green.

II

Oh, my heart, for the mouth, — the first mouth
From the South!
To awake at the break of the day,
In the gray
And the quiet and hear the first throat,
The first note,
From the lands far away o'er the swell;
Drink the smell
Of the jessamine bud and the rose,
And the glows
Of the graceful fair things, — for uncouth
Is this drouth:
Oh, my heart, for the mouth, — the first mouth.