Classic Poem

OM ILTON , mountain soul,
One lungful of thy larger air were worth
Whole stifling roods of this pent atmosphere!
To make men think what they but felt before, —
The poet's art is this, yet how much more!

Who may hie home at night
From farthest wandering
Never strays from home.

O'er suns and systems overthrown
Love shall live to clasp its own.

Oh! a painter gay is the autumn day,
For he dyes the waters blue,
And the greenwood tree with a blazonry
That summer never knew.

Stand, while Life's bolts are hurled,
Four-cornered to the world.

The sinister flash of a swift-stayed smile.

The Muse o'ersought will let thee vainly woo;
But slighted, see the proud one turn and sue!

Would it be sweet to think,
If I should die to-day there is one heart
Would break ere nightfall?

Fancy's airy web that snares
The flying feet of fame.

The unfamiliar way seems ever long.

Horned like the leaping flame.

The ghost of the inverted moon
Blankly rebukes the day.

The silver clouds of April afternoons.