Classic Poem

I saw pale Dian, sitting by the brink
Of silver falls, the overflow of fountains
From cloudy steeps; and I grew sad to think
Endymion's foot was silent on those mountains,
And he but a hushed name that Silence keeps
In dear remembrance—lonely and forlorn,
Singing it to herself until she weeps
Tears that perchance still glisten in the morn;
And as I mused, in dull imaginings,
There came a flash of garments, and I knew
The awful muse by her harmonious wings
Charming the air to music as she flew:
Anon there rose an echo through the vale
Gave back Endymion in a dream-like tale.