Classic Poem

I may not saunter in the sun
As when the days were long,
While Summer's thousand voices run
Through all the scale of song.

I may not lounge upon the bank
Where smooth the brook gleams by,
And gaze down where the sunlight sank
As deep as is the sky.

I may not whisper with the breeze
Upon the lush, sweet grass,
And, dreaming, watch the shadowy trees
Backward and forward pass.

I may not build upon the clouds
Grenada castles fair,
Where bright-haired visions troop in crowds
As high and pure as air.

I may not wander in the woods
And smell the fragrant gums,
Where naught of weary life intrudes,
And only healing comes.

For Winter, cheerless Winter, reigns!
The conquered Summer dies.
Her victor lords it o'er the plains,
And sweeps the dreary skies.

But, driven thus within my door,
I find a world as fair,
In which dwell all the gone-before, —
The wise, the good, the rare.

Suns of a thousand summers past
Shine on me from my grate, —
A light from out the aeons vast
That antedate all date.

And all the singers of all lands,
In type's strange magic kept,
Wake their sweet songs at my commands,
Where in the leaves they've slept.

And, while I dream above the page,
Summer is in the sky;
I watch the July lightnings rage,
Or hear some brook purl by.

I feel the soft grass 'neath my feet,
The tree-boughs sway o'erhead,
The air is with June fragrance sweet,
And all the storms are fled.

I build grand castles in the air,
And in their portals stand
Sweet visions of good women rare,
And men of every land.

I talk familiar with the great,
I worship with the good;
Their true words still reverberate,
And thrill to loftiest mood.

And, going inward, deeper still,
And climbing up as high,
By hidden stairs I rise, until
I gaze out on the sky.

For there are windows of the soul;
And, listening at these,
I hear the mighty ages roll
That make the eternities.

And, up through mists of blinding light,
A way no man hath trod,
I dare to look, till on my sight
There dawns the face of God.

And so I bless the winter winds
That shut the outer door;
For who the inner vision finds
Knows he was blind before.