Classic Poem

Is it not lovely, while the day flows on
Like some unnoticed water through the vale,
Sun-sprinkled, — and, across the fields, a gale,
Ausonian, murmurs out an idle tale,
Of groves deserted late, but lately won?
How calm the silent mountains, that, around,
Bend their blue summits, as if group'd to hear
Some high ambassador from foreign ground, —
To hearken, and, most probably, confound!
While, leaping onward, with a voice of cheer,
Glad as some schoolboy ever on the bound,
The lively Swanannoa sparkles near; —
A flash and murmur mark him as he roves,
Now foaming white o'er rocks, now glimpsing soft through groves.