Classic Poem

There it stood, the Wee-House-in-the-Wood,
Outlined against the azure sky,
And by its side ... near, yet far away ...
The graying hills in the last of day
Towered into God's heaven.

Standing, gazing there, the cares of the present left me,
And presently I walked beside old Avon's rippling waves;
The leaves rustled as I talked to my friend
Of Shakespeare's rise to fame so meteor-like.

I saw a serenader strum the dulcimer
Beneath a 'suckle-covered balcony ...
And merry couples on the meadow green
A-dancing to the fiddler's merry strains.

I saw King Arthur and his Knights go riding by;
A beggar by them on a dusty road
Held out his hand for alms ...
On Christmas Eve a Christmas-tree
Within a cheery English home.

The years rolled by as if on wing ...
Fled centuries ...
A ring, a halo drew itself all round about,
And made a frame of colors roseate;
The sun descended 'neath the western hills,
And shadows lengthened on the grass.

A phantom minstrel drifted to the door;
A phantom hand upraised,
And phantom fingers grasped the iron ring upon the post,
And tapped until the opening door
Outlined a lady small
Against the crackling fire within.
" Come in, " she spake.
Into the room the phantom minstrel tripped his way.

But still I stood entranced,
Lost in the impelling charm of the Wee-House-in-the-Wood
And its majestic symbolization of civilization
Dark and old ... and musty ... and sweet-scented with immortality.