Classic Poem

No bird hath ever lifted note so clear,
Or poured so prodigal his lyric breast,
But carried still some music from the nest,
When Winter laid the seal of silence there.
No sea hath ever woo'd the shore so fair
But turn of tide left something half expressed;
Nor true love every burned so strangely blest
That words could hold it all or heart could hear.

And yet the tide will turn again, and tell
Its sweet persistent story o'er and o'er —
The bird take up the cadence where it fell,
And pipe it towards the ending more and more —
And only love be inexpressible,
The endless song, the sea that hath no shore.