Classic Poem

The pine tree at my window drips
From all its slender finger tips;
The wild wind sobs with pale, thin lips.

What awful wailings do I hear,
Unutterably faint and drear?
Ah me, the wind tells not such fear!

Long with this dreadful thought I've striven:
Is not my heart distraught and riven
By shrieks of souls, fiend-scourged and driven?

Can I not see their robes of gray
Trailing athwart the somber day,
As in some nightmare by Dore?

Alas! why will that laggard stand,
And shake the sash with viewless hand?
Away! and join yon fleeing band.

I do not dare mine eyes to strain
Lest they should see against the pane
Some ghastly face, bedrenched with rain.

There in the old hearth on its bed
The great oak log is lying dead:
No flame elfs dance at foot or head.

I am alone to-day, alone;
Behind lies many a sad milestone,
And many a sterile field, wind-sown.

I kissed my love one starry dawn,
And turned away my face, pain-drawn,
Knowing she could not follow on.

" I am alone to-day, " I said,
" For love and grief in me are wed,
And she — she is not even dead. "

My friend said: " Let me go with you;
Tho' woman fail, will I be true. "
Alas! my way he little knew.

And thus, unknown of all mankind,
With thin, wan face 'gainst rain and wind,
I go right on, nor look behind.

Hath not my noviceship sufficed?
Ah, I have suffered like the Christ!
And smiled as though by joy enticed.

Yea, like the damned have I despaired,
And none have asked me how I fared,
Because they neither knew nor cared.

By graves of mine I've stood at night,
To ponder o'er the sleepers' plight,
While winter spread their couches white.

And oft, when spring her revels kept,
Have I within their city wept,
Because they, only, slept and slept.

And joy has seized me, such as fills
The robin's heart, and overspills,
Or is in dancing daffodils.

And I have lain in shady swoon
Throughout a summer's afternoon,
And heard the turtle coo and croon.

Full oft a million honey bees'
Æolian harps in bloomy trees
Have lulled my soul to sweetest ease.

Oft have I strayed on wild sea strands
To watch old Neptune wave his hands,
And hear him call his plumed bands.

Nature's whole diapase I know,
From fall of leaves on crusted snow
To thunder music, high or low.

Children are cherubs in my eyes;
Their happy voices seem to rise
From out a long lost paradise.

My heart bleeds for the world's forlorn,
And looketh ever toward the morn
When no man shall his brother scorn.

And I would liefer sing one song
To free a slave or right a wrong
Than be chief fool to fashion's throng.

Ah! what is this? The fire once more
Is burning with a merry roar;
The chill is gone, the gloom is o'er.

And see, the clouds are fleeing far
Before the sun's keen scimitar.
How bright the pine tree's jewels are!

Why should a poet thirst for praise?
The sun shines bright on cloudiest days,
The linnet sings by loneliest ways.