Edgar Allan Poe — The Forest Reverie

                ‘T is said that when                 The hands of men         Tamed this primeval wood, And hoary trees with groans of wo, Like warriors by an unknown foe,         Were in their strength subdued,                 The virgin Earth                 Gave instant birth         To springs that ne’er did flow—                 That in the sun                 Did rivulets run,         And all around rare flowers did blow—                 The wild rose pale                 Perfumed the gale         And the queenly lily adown the dale                 (Whom the sun and the dew                 And the winds did woo,) With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.                 So when in tears                 The love of years                 Is wasted like the snow, And the fine fibrils of its life By the rude wrong of instant strife         Are broken at a blow—                 Within the heart                 Do springs upstart         Of which it doth not know,                 And strange, sweet dreams,                 Like silent streams         That from new fountains overflow,                 With the earlier tide                 Of rivers glide Deep in the heart whose hope has died— Quenching the fires its ashes hide,—         Its ashes, whence will spring and grow                 Sweet flowers, ere long,—         The rare and radiant flowers of song!