Classic Poem

No flashing snows and crystal air,
That send the warm blood dancing free;
No jingling bells and mingled glee,
And gay steeds dashing here and there.

But days of damp and gloom and chill,
Till thought dwells only on such theme
As faces that are but a dream,
And voices now forever still.

From o'er the blue Sierra's peaks,
Across the great plains, wild and wide,
Across the Mississippi's tide,
There comes a voice that sadly speaks.

He dwelt within my soul, and read
The secrets graven on my heart;
Of all my life he was a part,
Yet now, afar, he lieth dead.

His were the gifts we strive to share:
Discretion far beyond his years;
With that would flash a smile through tears,
And span their rainbow on despair.

Some things I never knew. God grant
He called that priceless gem his own,
Without possessing which, alone,
All other things are utter want.

Again I see those college days;
We sit in some familiar room,
Whiling away the coming gloom,
And on the misty future gaze.

Anon the lamp shines from the desk,
When from the well-filled shelf is brought
Some legacy of ancient thought,
Dwelling in characters grotesque.

And often, when the path was blind,
With skillful step the way he led,
And conjured up the mighty Dead,
Communing with them, mind to mind.

These things belong to days of yore;
And now I listen, all aghast,
While still from out the darkness vast
There comes a voice that cries: " No more. "

No more; and yet, through all the years,
My heart shall have a place for thee,
Where sweetest flowers of Memory
Shall grow, bedewed by frequent tears.