Classic Poem

It is a lovely twilight! Tree-browed hills
And rivers as they roll their lucid course,
Relieved by chequered intervals of shade,
And that pure single star, the pioneer
Of astral legions—in its loneliness,
Figure of genius that doth long time shine
In pensive solitude ere meaner souls,
That boast not half its light, troop forth to join it—
These sights long dumb at last renew their speech,
I hear them as of old; my youth returns
In every faculty, but that of hope.