Classic Poem

Beside the shining river's brim,
By vital green of grasses spanned
And circled by the hills, that rim
The blue horizon's wonder-land,
The ruins of a dwelling rise
Pathetic to the evening skies.

Mounds, where a hearth fire once was bright;
And tumbled rails that girdled in
A garden with its blooms alight
And waving growths, their next-of-kin:
Above, a well-sweep rising sheer
Out of the wreck of many a year.