Classic Poem

'Tis not the gaudy stream of rosy flame
Decking the azure of the lofty sky,
Nor all the beauties, early autumn's claim,
Nor what the taste delights, or what the eye:

No such are now. Clouds rolling on the wind,
Darkness and wet, above and on the ground;
And yet 'tis spring, 'tis summer, in my mind,
Within, the warbling nightingale is found.

Philosophy divine, sweet innocence,
Self-approbation, nobly built, secure,
More than the stars' benignant influence
Delight; and, when those perish, will endure.

When empires tremble and the mountains nod,
When ocean's usurpation tops the air,
When conflagration ruins worlds, their God
Regards the heart sincere, sits smiling there.