Classic Poem

I.

Weary , ah, weary am I;
Scorn not thou this cry of sadness,
Scorn not thou me who bow under many a burden;
See I am weak, and clamor for aid which I find not;
See I would be strong, and find each day new bonds engirding me.

II.

Oh, might I say in verses the wonderful clearness,
Freshness, gladness, glory all the wide fields are robed in!
Oh, might I be even as they,
Grateful for rain or for sunshine,
Happy in spring when the grasses softly enclothe them,
Bursting to flower, winsome smiles of their green expanses,
Eyed with the splendor of streams that flow on in joyance,
Laugh in summer to feel in their souls the sunshine,
And are content in the winter to sleep in their icy enfoldment.

III.

But peace I find not anywhere;
Change brings fear and trembling deep into my soul;
Would I could gain those heights empyrean
Spirits attain who look through this garment of visions,
Seeing beyond the immutable infinite calm of the soul!