Classic Poem

That was not a barren time,
When the new World calmly lay,
Bare unto the frosty rime,
Open to the burning day.

Though her young limbs were not clad
With the colours of the spring,
Yet she was all inward glad,
Knowing all she bore within,
Undeveloped, blossoming.

There was Beauty, such as feeds
Poets in their secret hours;
Music mute; and all the seeds
And the signs of all the flowers.

There was wealth, beyond the gold
Hid in oriental caves;
There was — all we now behold
'Tween our cradles and our graves.

Judge not, then, the Poet's dreams
Barren all, and void of good:
There are in them azure gleams,
Wisdom not all understood.

Fables, with a heart of truth;
Mysteries, that unfold in light;
Morals, beautiful for youth;
Starry lessons for the night.

Unto Man, in peace and strife,
True and false, and weak and strong,
Unto all, in death and life,
Speaks the poet in his song.