Classic Poem

The Sabbath peace was brooding o'er the land;
The heart of Merrie England lay asleep;
The kine stood dreaming in the grass knee-deep;
White butterflies blew by on every hand:
And as I drank the clover's honied scent,
The whispers, and the sunshine, and the peace,
Ah me, thought I, how many a life will cease
Ere night, that so this quiet be not rent!

Then a great butterfly, with wings of blood,
Hovered and lit, and passed upon the wind;
The old Greek fancy flashed along my mind—
Some royal soul goes down the eternal flood
Yonder in France, where war's wild tides are tost,
Or where Leander counted life well lost!