Classic Poem

O, there are moments, when the dreaming soul
Forgets this earth, and wanders far away
Into some region of eternal day,
Where the bright waves in calm and sunshine roll.

Thither it wanders, and has reached its goal; —
The good, the great, the beautiful are there,
And wreaths of victory crown their flowing hair,
And as they move, such music fills the air,
As ne'er from fabled bower or cavern stole.

Soft to the heart it winds, and hushes deep
Its cares and sorrows. Thought then, fancy-free,
Flies on from bliss to bliss, till finding thee
It pauses, as the musk-rose charms the bee,
Tranced, as in happy dream of magic sleep.