Classic Poem

I hold so dear the genial days
When in the Spring-tide's earliest birth,
The sky its blue expanse displays
And sheds its cheering warmth on earth.
The valleys still with ice are gra,
The hill shines bright beneath the sun,
In open air the maidens stray,
And children's sports are fresh begun.

I stand on yonder mountain's height
And gaze around with heartfelt peace;
My breast receives an impulse light
That doth not to a wish increase.
I feel a child, and mark intent
Boon Nature's pranks, with joy possessed;
And by the calm she thus hath sent
My soul is lulled to tranquil rest.

Those genial days are likewise sweet,
When to the soft and sunny plains
Old men their sad farewells repeat
And Nature's Sabbath-season reigns;
No more she bud or fruit supplies,
Each active power awhile expires;
In self-collected calm she lies,
And to her inmost depths retires.

My soul, late soaring high, returns
To earth, and ends her daring flight;
A resignation sweet she learns,
Remembrance now contents her quite.
A silence deep my soul doth bind
That Nature o'er me softly throws;
I seem descending slow, to find
The stillness of the grave's repose.