Classic Poem

Sleep on in thy sunny sand-dunes and slumber in thy byways;
In the hollow of thy drowsy hills, lo! sleep and the shadow of death.
Dream on, O dear enchantress, of the babel that filled thy highways,
When passionate throngs sang thy song of songs and a war-cry was thy breath.

Now in thy listless languor, lo! the encircling sea-mew —
Gulls in the wild sea-gardens; and the curve of the lateen sail
As it cleaves like a silver scimitar the mist of the sea; and dream you
Of the treasure vast and the glory past — the visions of no avail.

Dream of the splendid trappings of the troops that met and mingled —
Mexican cavaleros and hidalgos of old Castile:
Hark to the music of the spurs of silver that jolted and jingled;
And loudly laugh, as the wine you quaff, at the past beyond appeal.

Where are they now, O dreamer? thy treasures have vanished whither?
Thou who was first to the headland-front and Queen of the western sea:
Long have I watched and have waited and have wandered hither and thither
Asking a word with a voice unheard and now I would ask it of thee.

The bitter tang of the sea is ours and the winds forever roaming;
The fleecy crest of the breaking wave and the ribbons of streaming kelp;
The fishers mending their nets in the sun, and the crickets in the gloaming,
And the seal's gruff bark, in the dew and the dark, and the whine of her hungry whelp.