Classic Poem

Sun of another world, whose rays
 At distance gladdens ours;
Soul of a happier sphere, whose praise
 Surpasses mortal powers;
Mysterious feeling, taught to roll
 Resistless o'er the breast,
Beyond embrace, above controul,
The strangest, sweetest of the soul,
 Possessing, not possest.

II.

Deceiver, hail! around whose throne
 Such numerous votaries bend;
The form to all but thee unknown,
 The wretch without a friend:
Youth when his cherish'd best is dead
 Makes what is living thine;
Age, hoping when his all is fled,
Still totters on with eager tread,
 And dies before thy shrine.

III.

Yet what art thou? a tottering hall
 That crumbles while we walk;
A flower so soon decreed to fall,
 And wither on its stalk;
A gather'd rose-bud, but that pride
 Of crimson o'er it spread,
'Tis our own life-blood's precious tide,
That as we pluck'd it, gushing wide,
 Has dyed the pale flower red.

IV.

'Tis all a dream! the forms we love
 Elude the eager clasp;
The pleasures that we long to prove
 Vanish within the grasp;
They're disappointment, death, despair,
 Aught but the good they seem;
We love, we hate, we joy, we care,
And hope is sweet, and life is fair,
 And yet—'tis all a dream!

V.

A fiend is sitting on our heart,
 We slumb'ring thro' the night,
And every heave, and every start,
 He marks with fierce delight:
'Tis death: he loves his watch to keep
 By life's decreasing stream,
And soon in thrilling accents deep,
His potent call shall burst our sleep,
 And prove it all a dream!

VI.

Yet wherefore mourn? since Hope at best,
 Tho' fair, was always vain;
Her promises were ever rest,
 Her guerdons ever pain:
Why mourn the absence of that light.
 That only led astray?
It lur'd the steps, perplex'd the sight,
And yet 'twas bright, 'twas wond'rous bright,
 And gilded all the way.

VII.

Yes; he who roams in deserts bare,
 That were not always wild,
Will sigh to think how sweetly there
 Full many a flow'ret smil'd,
Will pause to mark th' uncherish'd beam,
 The tree uprooted torn,
And sit, immers'd in pensive dream,
By many a now deserted stream,
 To meditate and mourn.