Classic Poem

When the morning lifts in light
Over misty wood and stream,
And from heaven's azure height
Falls the silence like a dream; —
Then the joy-bird on his tree
Pipes of love and hope to me:
(Wake up rose of morning.)

When the noonday lies in light
Over woodland hill and deep,
Fleecy cloudlands furled in flight,
Over fields enmeshed in sleep: —
Then the sad-bird pipes to me
Songs of days that used to be:
(Red my rose of dreaming.)

When the evening dies in light
Down the purple miles of dream,
Lost in jewelled shoals of night,
Where a myriad glories gleam: —
Then the death-bird pipes to me
From the shadow of his tree: —
(Fold my flower for sleeping.)