Classic Poem

A merry young bush,
And a happy old tree,
A song of a thrush,
And a wave of the sea;
A cloud in the sky,
And sweet tear-drops of rain,
A monarch am I,
On a poor couch of pain.

A forest of faith
In a valley of dreams,
“Be thou true unto death,”
Sob the murmuring streams;
In glory the sun
Doth relinquish his reign,
The battle is won
On the red field of pain.