Classic Poem

Pour thou thy breath along the rose-hung lanes,
Sweet west wind — pass through fragrant Italy —
Yea, linger over many a perfumed sea
Whose waves the deathless southern sunset stains.
But as for me where the high north wind reigns
I'll reign, and with keen tides of purest breath
Sweep over ice-bound lands and frozen plains
Where all is silent in consummate death: —
But join thou unto mine thy fragrant hand,
And I will with thee seek thy southern land, —
Yea, thou shalt melt and bless my iron-bound north,
And I with thee through flowers will sally forth,
Brace, not destroy, thy southern sweetest rose,
While thou shalt shrink not from, but melt, my shows.