Classic Poem

My heart shall rest where greenly flow
The willows o'er the meadow —
The fever of this burning brow,
Be cooled beneath their shadow.
When summer birds go singing by,
And sweet rain wakes the blossom,
My weary hands shall folded lie
Upon a peaceful bosom.

When, Nature, shall the night begin
That morning ne'er displaces,
And I be calmly folded in
Thy long and still embraces?
Dearer than to the Arab maid,
When sands are hotly glowing,
The deep well and the tented shade,
Were peace of thy bestowing.