Classic Poem

O when first came a builder's hand
To build of heavy stone on stone
A house on this fair knap of land,
That sires and sons long call'd their own,
While yet the open ground was clean
Of floor or wall, and no blue smoke
From lofty chimney-tops was seen
Upcurling by the leafy oak?

Who walk'd the first amid the sights
Of garden flow'rs, and trees in bloom,
Or saunter'd through the shooting lights
Of that old orchard's cooler gloom,
The while their stonen walls, yet white
In newness, glow'd before the noon,
And window glass at dead of night
Gleam'd new against the southern moon?

I seem to see come out to walk
On that old lawn a youthful maid,
With winsome smile and lively talk,
A-blooming there, elsewhere to fade.
And there I seem to see her stand,
Within that wall, that ne'er was high,
And speak (a rose is in her hand)
To some young friend a-riding by.

O fathers good, and mothers kind,
Your manly sons and daughters fair,
Who were a care upon your mind,
Have ceased to be, or have a care.
May you who may have been bereft
Of those that ye have grieved to miss
Find yet that leavers and the left
Shall meet again in higher bliss.