Classic Poem

This a fitting scene would prove
For the Painter's beauteous art,
Scenes like this the Poets love,
Speaking to the eye and heart.

Winding river here I see,
Fields and woods on either hand;
From all noise the place is free,
As for quiet musings planned.

Nature here asserts her power
O'er the freed and grateful soul!
Swiftly flies the sunset hour,
'Neath her gentle, sweet control.

Not alone I seem to be,
While she ministers around;
Though no human form I see,
Hear no voice of mortal sound.

As I turn to leave the spot,
Still it doth my vision fill;
It can never be forgot,
Woods, and stream, and lofty hill.

Lighted oft by Memory's ray,
They no more can fade from sight;
Like the hues of dying day,
Quickly changing into night.