Classic Poem

Brightly glance the beech-tree tops,
The aspen quivers bright;
The poplar swings from out the copse
And lashes into white.

Brightly glance the clover tops,
The hedge-rows glisten sweet,
Where freely climb the flowering hops,
And bells and flower-buds meet.

Brightly glance the willow heads,
The stream comes gleaming down and raving;
Beside it wave the osier beds,
But love is more than all their waving.

Brightly glance the tops of the oaks,
The branch of the ash is black and bitter;
Round the sun's blue course the fire-cloud smokes,
To me earth's darkness were dearer and fitter.

Brightly glance the tops of the broom,
Bright swells the thicket's side;
The clustering branches give no room:
Oh, where may love abide!