Classic Poem

About the knoll the airs blew fresh and brisk,
And, musing as I sat, I held my watch
Upon my open palm; its smooth bright disk
Was uppermost, and so it came to catch,
And dwarf, the figure of a waving tree,
Back'd by the West. A tiny sunshine peep'd
About a tiny elm,—and both were steep'd
In royal metal, flaming ruddily:
How lovely was that vision to behold!
How passing sweet that fairy miniature,
That stream'd and flicker'd o'er the burning gold!
God of small things and great! do Thou ensure
Thy gift of sight, till all my days are told,
Bless all its bliss, and keep its pleasures pure!