Classic Poem

Oh is there not a land
Where the North wind blows not?
Where bitter blast[s] are felt not?
Oh is there not a land
Between Pole and Pole
Where the war trumpet sounds not
To disturb the deep serene?
And can I go there
Without or wheel or sail,
Without crossing ford or moor,
Without climbing Alpine heights,
Wafted by a gentle gale?
There is a land,
And without wheel or sail
Fast, fast thou shalt be wafted
Which way ever blows the gale.
Do the billows roll between,
Must I cross the stormy main?
Green and quiet is the spot,
Thou needst not quit the arms
That tenderly enfold thee—