Classic Poem

Upon this heaven-kissing hill,
On this mid-summer day of days,
That sad old question shoulders in
Among my thoughts of prayer and praise,

What do I know? Not much, alas!
Of all the breadth and depth and height
That presses upon soul and sense
From day to day, from night to night.

And yet I know the light is sweet,
And pleasant 'tis to see the sun, —
What time he climbs the eastern hills,
And when his course is nearly done.

I know the look of wind-blown grass,
The quiet rustle of the corn,
The lusty song the thrasher sings
To usher in the glowing morn.

I know to what a merry tune
Yon river ripples on its way,
And how, along its leafy brink.
The drooping branches softly sway.

I know the springs that trickle down
Through many a rod of brush and fern,
Divinely cool, nor Zeus himself
Drank better drink from Hebe's urn.

I know what fine enchantments lurk
In clouds that trail their shadows dun
O'er hill and vale, or lie at ease
Along the west at set of sun.

I know the night is calm and cool,
And welcome when the day is spent;
And when it fills the sky with stars,
Fills all my soul with sweet content.

But in the worlds of thought and love
Yet more and better things I know
Than this mid-summer day of days,
For all its treasures, has to show.

I know that many friends are kind,
That many hearts are fond and true;
I know — but hush! I may not tell
The half I know, Montaigne, to you.

Wherefore, O skeptic, go and try
Your question in some other ear;
I know enough to keep my heart
Brimful of joy from year to year.