Classic Poem

The tide will ebb at day's decline:
Ich bin dein!
Impatient for the open sea,
At anchor-rocks the tossing ship, —
The ship which only waits for thee;
Yet with no tremble of the lip
I say again, thy hand in mine,
Ich bin dein!

I shall not weep, or grieve, or pine:
Ich bin dein!
Go, lave once more thy restless hands
Afar within the azure sea, —
Traverse Arabia's scorching sands, —
Fly where no thought can follow thee,
O'er desert waste and billowy brine:
Ich bin dein!

Dream on the slopes of Apennine:
Ich bin dein!
Stand where the glaciers freeze and frown,
Where Alpine torrents flash and foam,
Or watch the loving sun go down
Behind the purple hills of Rome,
Leaving a twilight half divine:
Ich bin dein!

Thy steps may fall beside the Rhine:
Ich bin dein!
Slumber may kiss thy drooping lids
Amid the mazes of the Nile,
The shadow of the Pyramids
May cool thy feet, — yet all the while,
Though storms may beat, or stars may shine,
Ich bin dein!

Where smile the hills of Palestine,
Ich bin dein!
Where rise the mosques and minarets, —
Where every breath brings flowery balms, —
Where souls forget their dark regrets
Beneath the strange, mysterious palms, —
Where the banana builds her shrine, —
Ich bin dein!

Too many clusters break the vine:
Ich bin dein!
The tree whose strength and life outpour
In one exultant blossom-gush
Must flowerless be forevermore:
We walk this way but once, friend; — hush!
Our feet have left no trodden line:
Ich bin dein!
Who heaps his goblet wastes his wine:
Ich bin dein!
The boat is moving from the land; —
I have no chiding and no tears; —
Now give me back my empty hand
To battle with the cruel years, —
Behold, the triumph shall be mine!
Ich bin dein!