Classic Poem

I cannot change the world; what is will be.
The songs of poets are as wind and smoke;
To-night a star will shine, an owl will hoot,
And clouds will sail indifferently to sea.
Though Shakespeare's lyrics charm the ear of time,
Not all his golden words can match the rose;
The spring will follow winter's barren trail,
Whether a Dante plows or plies a rhyme.
The pine-proud hills that pierce the purple skies,
The soft still lakes that hear the forest dance,
Remain to mock the piper's passing tunes,
Glimmering as the frail wings of butterflies!