Classic Poem

Beyond the narrow window
—Of my dull House of Care
One road is always beckoning
—When days are gray and bare.
And then I spurn the dusty street,
—The struggle and the load—
I pin my wings upon my feet
—And take the Tree-top Road.

The joy of life is hidden
—In unsubstantial things;
An April rain, a fragrance,
—A vision of blue wings!
And what are memory and hope
—But dreams? and yet the bread
On which these little lives of ours
—Are fed and comforted!

Without imagination
—Man sinks into a clod;
Missing the trail of beauty—
—Losing the way to God,
And I have built a temple-stair
—Out of a lilac's bloom,
And climbed to Heaven with purple pomp,
—And censer, and perfume!

Philosophers and Sages
—Seeking to find out God,
With puzzling chart and compass,
—And strange divining-rod,
I think if you put on your wings
—And take the Tree-top Way
You'll meet Him, coming down to see
—His orchards bloom in May.

I have no feud with labor,
—But at the Gates of June,
My dusty pack forsaking
—I join in Youth's glad tune;
And just forgetting for a while
—That I am worn and gray,
Go sailing off with Peter Pan
—Along the Tree-top Way!