Classic Poem

Thus it is we meet again
In the merry realm of song:
Fitting garlands let us train
To bedeck the tuneful throng.

But of all the Godlike host
Which deserves our tribute first?
Surely he deserves it most
Who with pleasure slakes our thirst.

For what boots it that a soul
Ceres breathes into the shrine,
Or that Bacchus fills the bowl
With his rich empurpled wine,

If the spark be not from heaven
Which excites the sacred fire,
If the spirit be not riven,
If the heart do not aspire?

Fortune must from heaven fall
As the mighty gods allow;
But the greatest chance of all
Is the present moment — Now !

Since infant Nature had its birth
In distant ages far away,
The godliest triumph upon earth
Is thought, and thought's enlightening ray.

Slowly, in the ages course
Stones are fitted, tier on tier;
To the soul with lightning force
Shall th' accomplished work appear.

As the sun on earth below
Fairy-coloured fabrics limns,
As upon her brilliant bow
Iris through the ether skims,

So is every priceless boon
Fleeting as the lightning wave;
Night is nigh, and all too soon
It must sink into the grave.