Classic Poem

Evening rose from a bed of rain,
And out of the west day dawned again;
With outstretched fingers of falling light
She touched the tree-tops and made them bright;
And under the leaves, a-spark with dew,
The cry of the blackbird sparkled too;
And every hillock, and glade, and tree
Was filled with the makings of melody,
As the dying light streamed miles along
Through murmur of water, and leaf, and song.

Then out of the east, in a paling mist,
The dead-faced moon came up to be kissed:
Slow and solemn, we watched her rise,
A face of wonder with cavernous eyes.
There life is changeless and time without worth,
There nothing dies or is brought to birth;
Her day is done, she is filled with dearth,
Old she looks to the young green earth,
Old as the foam of a frozen shore,
Old—for nothing can age her more!

O young green earth, go down into night,
Rejoice in thy youth till its days are o'er!
Time speeds, life spends; therein is delight,
Till youth and the years can age no more.