Classic Poem

Blue , pink and yellow houses, and, afar,
The cemetery, where the green trees are.

Sometimes you see a hungry dog pass by,
And there are always buzzards in the sky,
Sometimes you hear the big cathedral bell;
A blind man rings it; and sometimes you hear
A rumbling ox-cart that brings wood to sell.
Else nothing ever breaks the ancient spell
That holds the town asleep, save, once a year,
The Easter Festival. . .


I come from there,
And when I tire of hoping, and despair
— — Is heavy over me, my thoughts go far,
Beyond that length of lazy street, to where
— — The lonely green trees and the white graves are