Classic Poem

Over the mountains, and over the sea,
Wilt thou, oh, wilt thou come with me?
Deep-shadowed groves and meadows green,
Splendors no mortal eye has seen,
Singing and mirth the livelong day,
These shall reward thine adventurous way.

Nay, but thy skies were no longer fair,
Golden thy sun, nor perfumed thine air,
Happy thy blossoms, nor silver thy night,
Glorious thy sea's tumultuous might,
Sunderedst thou me from the hearts that I love
In thy griefless expanse of regions above.

Wilt thou remain a slave to thy pain,
Bound in thy passion's unyielding chain?
What are thy loved ones unto thee,
Sad with the whole of misery?
Flee from the midst of thy fierce distress
To my pleasure's wanton wilderness.

Nay, but the gloom of my bitter past
Over thy skies will be surely cast;
Hast thou the power wholly to part
Self from self, or heart from heart?
Whither thou lead'st me, high or low,
Surely myself must with thee go.

Linger not here, but hearken to me,
Seek thou my realm's extremity;
Wilt thou remain in thy semi-gloom,
Haunted as by a perpetual doom?
Shatter the bonds that encircle thee,
Dare to be grandly, utterly free.

Nay, but thy words are vague as the air,
Trouble me not with thy speeches fair;
Whither I go, my word must be said,
My oak-leaf won, my arrow sped;
What matter gloom and bitter pain?
The end is peace, and that is gain.