Classic Poem

Peace is the precious atmosphere I breathe;
And my calm mind goes to her dewy bower,
A trellis rare of fragrant thoughts to wreathe,
Mingling the scents and tints of every flower.
For pity, vex her not: those inner joys
That bless her in this consecrated hour,
Start and away, like plovers, at a noise,
Sensitive, timorous. O, do not scare
My happy fancies, lest the flock take wing,
Fly to the wilderness, and perish there!
For I have secret luxuries, that bring
Gladness and brightness to mine eyes and heart,
Memory, and Hope, and keen Imagining,
Sweet thoughts, and peaceful, never to depart.

Then give me Silence; for my spirit is rare
Of delicate edge and tender: when I think,
I rear aloft a mental fabric fair;
But soon as words come hurtling on the air,
Down to this dust my ruined fancies sink:
Look you! on yonder Alp's precipitous brink
An avalanche is tottering; one breath
Loosens an icy chain; it falls — it falls,
Filling the buried glens and glades with death!
Or as, when on the mountain's granite walls
The hunter spies a chamois — hush! be calm,
A word will scare it — even so, my Mind
Creative, energizing, seeks the balm
Of Quiet: Solitude and Peace combined.